I’m lost in a tunnel, and I can’t find my way out They’re telling me to turn right, but then they’re telling me to turn left, but then they’re also telling me to keep moving forward Why must this be so difficult? Why must this make me feel so feared of what awaits ahead of me? Why must I question myself constantly? Why must I contemplate everything? I’m asking myself these questions with “Why...

Good girls,Are grateful,Good girls let the hateful,Thing slide, because,It’s none of their business anyway,Because it’s,Not their place,Because she knows if she opens her mouth,Her face will betray her,Her emotions will be traced,Her rage, will spill over,Good girls, keep the vacant smiles,And think of everything good,In good girls lives.Like how these good girls,Could wear spaghetti straps,But...

There’s something about a girl with a mic,On a stage,Where her rage,Echoes until it’s part of the room,Where her voice fills the room,And you have to listen,To the little girl indignant,Standing tall but so small must be ignorant,Only fifteen, what could she know about the real world,Only that her world is being stolen away.There’s something about a girl who isn’t smiling,Who is not quite quiet...