Secrets kept
Led to nights spent wept
I could **** a person
But somehow this is more personal to you than death
How selfish of you
But that message will never get through
So I carry on bruised
By social irrationality..
You ask for my story, you feel entitled to it all
But I muffle it all with the misleading sentence "I'm hurt."

You see it seems romantic..
You asking if I'm okay
Wanting to know where I got my edge--
But the answer will be the death of us..
And you'll never fully understand..
And a jaded view of what I've been through will only taint my life's understanding

I'm not ready to see that side of you..
The one that tells me you're not the exception to the rule
A rule that shouldn't even exist.

You aren't ready
And I can't risk letting the foundation of my fears,
this thing that has changed me,
Be leaked into that society to become novel gossip
and merits for scorn.
Despite what we've learned from history about irrational opposition and shame,
Our society still isn't mature enough to handle this with care.
They will mishandle my substance
Because what's a thousand pounds heavy to me
Is paper airplanes to all of you
Ready to be tossed around, crushed up, disposable..
But my heart will remain heavy
..And tired.

So the only thing I can truly tell this story to
Is my knees when I'm holding them in,
trying to protect my chest from exploding;
I can share this story with my cheeks
And send tears down them like messengers;
I can tell this story to the shower ground--
It catches me when I can't help but collapse where my cheeks, and my knees rush to my aid like the few friends I trust

I am a liar.
And I need to continue to be a liar,
And I'm sorry to you,
But sorry for me,
And sorry for a society who hasn't given me much of a choice.