If each day was a story, or another page in a book
I’d burn some pages out, and leave some where they stood.
I’d make the ink different colors, I’d put pictures of random things
I’d doodle on the top, and even write funny names
I’d make one page blue, one purple one red
I’d put all the lessons, I learned from my regrets
I’d tell my own opinion, say how it was here and now
I’d say the lies I told, or the truths I held deep down
I’d put my best friend’s name, all our inside jokes
Then I’d rip that page out, because it’s only for me and her to know
I’d put the little things that bug me, that a lot of people do
Then I’d put how I realize, that I do those things, sometimes, to
I’d put stuff in about the real me, how I do things others don’t expect
Then I’d put the one others see, the things I do then
I’d put how it seems two faced, how I act and look
But you’d only know these things, if I wrote them in a book.