It's hard to speak my mind
When I don't know what I'll find-
Will people be kind?
Will they leave me behind?
Will they think that the worst parts of me
Are by what I'm defined?

I try to picture the exchange,
I try to picture what would change.

What do I say?
"Hey, I'm depressed."
What would they say?
"I'm sure you're just stressed."

What if I told them:
"I hurt myself the other day."
And then they told me:
"Accidents happen, it's okay."
And then I'd admit:
"No, I meant to do it."
And then, just like that,
****, I blew it.

They wouldn't know what to say,
I'd drive them away,
Or maybe I'd just hold them at bay.

I'm never quite sure who to tell
That sometimes I don't feel so swell.
That at night I feel alone,
That my heart feels heavy as a stone.
That my eyes overflow,
And I feel so, so,
******* low.

I mean, I'll get there at some point,
I'll find someone to softly anoint
With the hidden, heavy truth,
Wearing my faint scars
As proof.