Scrape The Grey Sky Clean,

I'm Not The Only Kid Who Grew Up This Way, Surrounded By People Who Used To Say That Rhyme About Sticks And Stones, As If Broken Bones Hurt More Than The Names We Got Called, And We Got Called Them All. So We Grew Up Believing No One Would Ever Fall In Love With Us, That We'd Be Lonely Forever, That We'd Never Meet Someone To Make Us Feel Like The Sun Was Something They Built For Us In Their Toolshed. So Broken Heartstrings Bled The Blues, And We Tried To Empty Ourselves So We'd Feel Nothing. Don't Tell Me That Hurts Less Than A Broken Bone...

We're All Shipwrecked On This Idea That Everything Has To Be Explained.

Our Lives Will Only Ever Always Continue To Be A Balancing Act That Has Less To Do With Pain And More To Do With Beauty.

Look Directly Into Every Mirror. Realize Our Reflection Is The First Sentence To A Story, And Our Story Starts: We Were Here.

This Is My Voice. There Are Many Like It, But This One Is Mine.