This Is Me
Some people would suggest that I didn't care, But they are the same ones who know nothing about caring at all. Some people would suggest I'm rude, And if rude is needing my own space, My own time, My own life, Then I wish to be rude until the day I die. Some people think I'm stubborn, And maybe I am, You tell me. Is wanting what cannot be had stubborn, Or is it dreaming? Some people would say I'm bitter, But trust me, I am no bitter then a warm summer's breeze, Only more invisible. I was once told I don't know what pain is, And I told them: "Maybe I don't know what losing everyone I love is, But I have lost. Maybe I don't see death and depression every time I walk out the door, But that doesn't mean I don't feel the same pain as you. When we get cut, We both bleed, Just some get cut deeper then others, And some are stronger than me. It's not that I'm depressed really. It's more, I know a little too much about truth." Written December 2nd, 2001 © on Dec 01 2001 11:26 PM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Some people would suggest that I didn't care,..."