I am like dirt.
People don’t like dirt.

I don’t know if it’s just for how I look
Or for how I am.

Some of the people that I call friends are like grass.
They use me without me even knowing
Until I find out when they leave.
But when they’re with me they make everything good looking.

But they don’t last for long.
They’re green while they use me.

But ones they’re tired of me they turn yellow
And leave because I make them dry.

I’m tired of getting used as company and not as a friend.
I’m tired of new grass all the time.
I don’t know why I am dirt.
But maybe I do know why I am dirt and not grass.
Because I don’t used people like people that are grass do.

I am dirt that gets stepped on when I’m alone.
But when I’m with green grass I don’t.
But once grass is yellow and dry
I get stepped on again.

There’s always going to be people that don’t like me.
Those don’t like dirt.
But they will never know how it feels
To get used or get stepped on for being dirt.

I like to help.
I like to give.
I like giving you a place to step on.
I am dirt.