Even a broken clock

Is right twice a day.

At least, when people talk,

That’s what they always say.

The problem is, they also tell me

That I’m a broken kid.

You won’t ever see

Them admitting that it’s a fib.

Ok, I’ll admit I’m not the perfect child

But I’m not like the broken clock;

Twice a day, it’s opinion is filed.

I’m lucky if I can even talk

About anything with them.

People around here just look out

For themselves. That’s why the gem

Of your friendship made me shout.

People usually throw out

Broken things like clocks,

So I’m glad I haven’t been kicked out

Of where I can barely talk.

You told me that you would never

Hurt me like that,

But I’m just waiting ‘til whenever

You get bored and make me sad.

If I’m a broken clock,

Then what’s messed up inside?

I should be able to chalk

It up to something outside.

I don’t want to see

The small tokens

That make me believe

I’m the one that’s broken.