If You Knew Me

What She Doesn't See

/Mother/

All she saw was the anger,

the frustration,

the way her daughter lashed out at her siblings,

the way she stayed away from everyone--

pushed everyone out of her life and stayed away.

As a mother,

she tried to raise her daughter right,

but all she ever saw was her daughter's flaws.

She lost control all the time,

called her daughter selfish,

held her to reasonable expectations,

expected her to be more than she was behaving like.

She just couldn't understand

what the heck was wrong with her daughter.

"It's just a phase," she figured,

and decided to wait it out.

"It'll blow over eventually."

/Daughter/

What she doesn't see is how her words affect me.

What she doesn't see is that I will never meet her expectations.

What she doesn't see is that I will never be as good as my older brothers.

What she doesn't see is that I don't have a plan.

What she doesn't see is the pain eating me up alive.

What she doesn't see is depression swallowing me whole.

What she doesn't see is the fact that I have to wake up every morning and decide to live.

What she doesn't see is that I believe that everyone in this world hates me.

What she doesn't see is that I am entirely, utterly alone.

What she doesn't see is how badly I want music lessons, because it's the only reason I'm still here.

What she doesn't see is the reason why I let no one in is because of my scars.

What she doesn't see is the only way I can protect myself is by making sure everyone stays away.

What she doesn't see is that I'm slowly, day by day, losing my will to live.

What she doesn't see is the tears I cry behind my door.

What she doesn't see is the hours I lay awake wondering why I'm still alive.

What she doesn't see is loneliness cutting me with razor blades.

What she doesn't see is the only time I can escape is through books and music.

What she doesn't see is how much I hate my life.

And what she doesn't see is how much I want it to end.