You told me not to change.
It's too late.
My skin grows tougher.
My chin grows stronger.
I train my eyes not to leak tears.
I must get ready for the real world.
You told me not to change.
Maybe I already have.
How all do you really know me?
Do you know the girl
trapped in the razorblade?
Hidden in the closet
kept in the dark?
You told me not to change.
I know you meant well.
But you're too late.
I've changed already,
and it's not towards your definition of
"good".
You told me not to change.
I'm sorry.
