I fly over Nova Scotia, I swim the ocean blue
I land in New Orleans and eat a Po' Boy or two
I am not the person people expect me to be
I am not warm, I am not over and I am not in between
I'm living in my car now, I sold all my stuff
Not because I needed money, because I had too much
I'm writing this in a notebook that no one will ever read
So why am I still pretending I'm who they'd think I'd be?
I am in between the margins, these words are just my clothes
That I wear to cover up what I want no one to know
Jungle Green, Magenta, and Underwater Blue
I love every single colour, tear drops and balloons
