When I tell you
that I feel less like a person,
and more like a problem,
Your eyes squint up,
and all I see is the pity in them.
I say I'm sorry,
because if my feelings
can't be handled by you,
then I'm more ruined than I thought.
You also said that at the age of thirteen,
I hold much more on my shoulders
than I could ever begin to bear.
Maybe that's true,
but I've come this far,
and I don't plan on giving up.