When I daydream

About the man of my fantasies

Even he doesn’t know me

How could he?

 

All of the friends I talk to

I open up about everything I go through

Even they can’t know me like I do

 

My family, in my house, that I grew up with

My mom, who I’m with all the time,

who I talk to all the time, who raised me

Even from her I have all these . . .  secrets

It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything,

if anything it’s the opposite

But how could I tell her all these things

I feel, how could I put her through this?

 

She hurts for me

My friends all want to help, too

But if I talk about my feelings

It just sounds like I’m complaining,

doesn’t it?

 

I don’t think I can keep going

over and over the same thing

the same battles that I’ve been fighting

for forever and again and again

It must be exhausting

to hear the same things again and again

 

And it doesn’t even help, does it

If I’m fighting with myself

I can’t ask someone to get in between, can I

I’m the one who has to deal with me

The man in my fantasies . . .

He doesn’t know what to do, does he

How could anyone know what to do, with me

How could you know (me)