Why don't I ever talk about things that
        stress me out?
Because you don't understand.
You think you do,
but I know you don't.

If you lived just one day as me,
you'd do the same thing.
In fact, I don't think you'd survive.
Maybe you'd finally understand,

finally understand that I'm not afraid
to drive,
not afraid
to get a job,
not worried
to live for myself.

I never take charge and do something
        when I feel uncomfortable?
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you.
I was busy telling off
every creepy man who comes my way.
I was busy reporting him to the police.
I was busy telling administration
that the person who should be looking
        out for her students
just told me flat-out I'd be nothing.
I was busy standing up to my coach
who played me so much, I'm in chronic
        pain.
I was busy crying as you yelled at me
when I told you something that
happened to me that
made me uncomfortable.

I'm sorry you feel that I don't tell you
anything anymore even though
you're my "biggest supporter"
and I "know it."
It's not like every time I talk to you,
it ends in my tears.
Sorry, "biggest supporter,"
that I don't feel comfortable
talking to you.

I felt very-well supported
when I told you you made me
uncomfortable because you make me
feel like a failure,
and you yelled at me and told me to
        get my act together
as you told me it's my decision,
not yours,
to do anything or not do anything.