I freakin' hate this feeling.
Sometimes I think you love me.
At others I swear you hate me.
Usually I think you forget about me.
Always–
I just lie to myself.
Saying:
It doesn't matter–
I'm sure he just thinks
That it doesn't bother me.
That I am tougher than the rest–
I have convinced myself this is a valid excuse.
That my tough exterior is a good reason.
When in all honesty,
I know one thing for sure:
I should never be treated like a second,
Just because I am the one that can take it.