The truth is, I am broken.
I don’t know if I can be fixed.
Every loss is a new break, a new pressure.
You’re gone, but I still feel you

The truth is, I am hurt.
I can’t tell you how I feel.
You’d yell and scream and ask me why.
The hurt is a constant in my life.

The truth is, nobody really knows me.
I hide and shelter myself from them.
I adapt my feelings to please you.
It’s like being a chameleon in an ever changing background.

The truth is, I am lost.
My plans are there, but my mind wanders.
College is a must, but surviving high school is hell.
I’m confused, caught in a whirlpool.

The truth is, I care too much.
I get attached easily and worry constantly.
You leave, and a part of me dies inside.
It’s scary to know it will happen again.

The truth is, I have only three constants in my life.
Death,
Hurt,
And worry.