A couch doesn’t wonder if it’s wrinkles and folds are unappealing
A tree doesn’t ask if it’s taking up too much space
The wind isn’t concerned with who and what it hits when it’s blowing
So why do I keep wondering where is my place and what the hell is wrong with my face?
I know why, society has my mind all twisted
Like if I do my hair like this I’ll be black listed
Something in me tells me “Fuck what they think! who are they to form an opinion about me?”
Then the self doubt pours in and says “who the fuck are you going to be?”
Two things wrong with that; am I not someone already?
and why the fuck you pressuring me like we going steady?
I can give advice, pick my friends up when they’re feeling low
Tell them to trust the process, everybody has time to grow
I don’t ever listen to myself though.