What is it about me, that makes it so easy for you to hate?
Is it the way that I have succumbed to being your doormat,
Or perhaps the knack you have of making my heart deflate,
I try so hard to make you proud,
Being your savior, your friend and your trustee,
I try to make you talk about me out loud.
But it would appear that you do not think of me.
I must grow as an adult in order to survive,
And then maybe you will care if I am alive.