Masking My Insecurities

I tell myself I’m strong.
I don’t need to show
my painful past
no one needs to know
the horror I went through
I grew up too quick
and no one, saw past my surface
I don’t know how to hurt people
I don’t know how to be loved
I don’t know how to love
I’m hurt but I’m strong
and I’m perfect
alone.

When you’re young, you think everything you do is disposable. You move from now to now, crumpling time up in your hands, tossing it away. You’re your own speeding car. You think you can get rid of things, and people too - leave them behind. You don’t yet know about the habit they have, of coming back.
Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you’ve been.

Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.

It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them — and they simply don’t need you. That’s all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they’ll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on — this desperate need — and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.

And I hide because there’s more to me than what you see and I’m not sure you’d like the rest. I know that sometimes, I don’t like the rest.

You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.

You either like me or you don’t. It took me twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else.