tingting2000

When I was young, I was naive, I didn't know Why friends were good. I wanted one, I had a few, But they were brief, And didn't last. My first few years, They were okay, I was bullied, But I survived. No one wanted, Not in the least, To be my friend, Not when I cried. Then came third grade, I had a friend, For just a year, And I had fun. But then came fourth, We were split up, I am now "big", And they were not. Still I survived, But it did not, They had moved on, And so did I. Seventh was next, when I had friends, Or at least one, I spent time with. That year was hell, Literally, I was depressed, I pulled away. I skipped eighth grade,