People ask me if I'm that one boy,
Who writes poetry so often and quietly.
And I tell them no because quite frankly,
I don't want them to know unless they inspire me.

If my heart doesn't melt,
At the sight of their face,
If I don't realize I've never felt,
My emotions this way,
Then they shouldn't have to know,

Because I wish I could say I care,
But I ultimately don't.
Sorry if that's not fair,
But I still won't,

Reveal my own feelings,
To someone who can't understand.
They can't give me healing,
But they still lend their hand.

But they can't comprehend,
That's not what I need.
What I want is to end,
All the things,

Making me mad,
Turning me crazy.
Not things that are sad,
Just coping with waiting.