You Thought Wrong

You think you know me,
with face so smug like a constant I told you so.

You think you know me,
know how I feel and what I think,
what I want to be,
who I am.
You couldn’t be more wrong.

You think I am happy-HA!
You think that is who I am.
You think you know what is best for me,
what clothes, what friends, what emotion.
You have no idea.

You still think of me as a naive little child,
unchanged since primary school.

You think I’m happy?
You think this sorrow is just an act
put on to fit in with my friends?

Shows what you know.
You ask what reason I have to be sad.
I say I don’t know.
But I do know.
No one listens to me anymore.

They tell me their problems
and I cannot tell mine.

But you are the worst.
You ask me to tell you why I am sad.
I try, but no words come.
You say that when I know, I should tell you.
I try, I promise, I try.
But you don’t listen.

I spill my heart, my soul, to you,
and you don’t pay any attention.

Oh, that’s nice.
Could you repeat that?
Be grateful for what you have.
In my day…

Oh forget it, I want to scream!
You don’t care!
That’s why I am this way,
lost in myself.

You see these scars on my arms?
They were no accident.
And no one noticed.

No one cared.