If You Really Knew Me

If you really knew me, you'd know that I learned to care for myself and one small child at the age of 6, because I had no choice. If you really knew me, you'd know how much it hurt to call Grammy on the phone and tell her that Mum was gone, for good. You'd know how hard it has been to listen to Mum speak of Grammy now, ten years later, with that spiteful tone I've come to know so well. You'd know that I've thought good an hard about life, and most of the time, I've managed to come out alive. You'd know that it isn't easy to be tired, because you are stressed, and depressed, and an insomniac, and then to get to school and have all of your friends treat you like that "lovable slacker" the class idiot-- when you've worked your whole life from dusk to dawn just to stay alive, to get to where you are--- or at least if you knew that I felt that way, you might at least pretend to understand, "...alright, okay, I get it...". If you knew me, you'd know that I feel like a stranger in my own skin, and that it isn't easy, but it can be beautiful at times to be when you've gone through those moments of nearly not-being. If you really knew me, you'd stop looking at me that way, with that too-knowing-to-get-it face. I think I can read that expression, at least. I fear failure, I fear it more than death, and I hate loneliness, and I fear people to death.

If you really knew me, would you still want to know me?