You say my grades don’t matter.
You say, “I love you no matter what.”
Then why am I invisible?
Why do they only see the red numbers on my sheet?

You ask me, “Is everything fine?”
What do you expect me to say —
that I’m f**d up?
That I dream about leaving?
That I keep a blade in my front pocket?

You say I don’t share,
but you don’t pay attention.
I play the piano till my fingers bleed,
I scream songs that reflect me,
I even talked to you.

Maybe it’s because you liked me,
never loved me.
Maybe I’m so flawed I can’t see,
or maybe it’s both.
Maybe we’re both flawed —
we’re only human.