Yeah sure, when I cry, I cry for the small things,
But it's not about that small thing that causes the tears in my eyes.
It's about the hard things, large things,
Things I can't just get over.
It's about the times that ingrain into your memory,
Causing you suffering, you see,
I know I'm strange, but you don't know me,
Not a single word or phrase,
That lingers in your brain that consists of me,
The real me.
See it's the building up of everything I go through,
Not the petty words that come from you.
Your ignorance is astounding,
To think what you say really bothers me,
Because it's not the things you say, or do,
It's what I've been through,
And you couldn't live through the half of it.
