I’m not an emotional kind of person

I’m not the kind that cuts their arms,

Or draws skulls on their binders,

Or wears nothing but black.

But sometimes when I miss you,

And I pretend that I haven’t missed you,

And I say that it’s all okay – well,

I know, and they know, but you can’t tell

That I miss you more than anything in the world;

When you’re not here, a piece of me is gone

Somewhere in the upper left part of my chest

And I can never get it back, and, well,

I know, and they know, but you can’t tell

That everything is about as far from okay

As it can possibly get

And if my friends weren’t here to help,

I’d be crying.

I said the sort of things I never should have said

I did the sort of things I never should have done

It’s too late to undo them now with my dignity

So I have to sacrifice something

Either a piece of my heart

Or a chunk of my pride

Which is more valuable?

I know what I’ll have to choose

Because I can live without one

But my life is empty without the other.