Nightlight

Money

You say we need more money,

that you can't afford anything,

yet everyday you leave and run,

you run too far and too fast,

there is no way for me to catch up,

I can only try to help,

I get a job,

lower paying than you,

yet you still ask for money,

why am I taking care of you?

I'm simply a child,

and you're the one who's wild.

I try my hardest,

with school, work, and friends,

you only have two of those,

but I am better off than you?

Why is it this way?

my parents don't stay,

I fend for my own some days,

they say they need money,

But when I ask,

I get oh not now honey,

why is this true?

why can I not have a child's life,

Why have I been mature since I was 7.

I never played with other kids,

I hung out with adults,

this life doesn't make since,

when I say I have depression,

all I want is someone to help,

but I never get it, onlt demotions,

why is it that my words don't make a difference,

I can't keep trying and living in pain,

I can't tell the school,

how could I tell them I was raped?

How could I let them know why I am broken?

My "friends" don't seem to care,

one is always ranting about her mother,

the other doesnt talk to me unless she is with him,

yet I am the bad one,

I put others above my own

and I try my hardest,

but no one seems to see,

I am falling apart alone.

Sometimes I just want to end it,

but then I remember what I have

I have to be greatful they say,

that I have all this, why should I throw it away?

I am not happy,

I never truely am,

unless I am writing

or in a world of my own,

Art numbs the pain,

yet I never seem to find a cure,

I can only try to survive,

and hope I never loose my grip,

I feel I am to be insane,

and no one sees it slipping,

I have a addiction that I don't want cured,

writting day after day,

it calms my nerves,

the raw emotion,

and the way worlds flow,

it all makes sense to me,

this world may be my hell,

but what is it to others?

could they be happy,

or in the same boat as I?

I know every story is different,

but how different is mine?