You tell me that I am hiding something,
And you make me feel guilty,
As though I really am keeping secrets,
Even though there is nothing to tell you.

You ask me if I'm alright,
And when I tell you that I am,
You tell me to stop lying,
As if I can't possibly be OK.

You ask me what the matter is,
And I tell you nothing, because I am fine,
But you tell me that I don't need to be scared,
That I can tell you, whatever it is.

You pressure me until I feel as though
I have to tell you everything.
Why do I need a friend like you,
Who only likes me when you can make me feel better?