The Tired Writings of a Shy Optimist // Poetry

Part 3 - Angsty Teenage Feelings

When you say "I feel"
or "I relate"
or "I get it,"
I break.
Because, simply,
you aren't me.
You haven't lived in my shoes -
in this house -
with a mother sick in the mind and a father disabled -
You don't know half of what I deal with,
and what makes me who I am,
and the same applies to you.
We live in a darkness,
worlds apart,
and I only know what you tell me,
and how you act.
You'll never know what I truly feel,
and I'll never truly know you.
You can't relate -
you never will.