You make it sound so easy when it really isn't.

You say I should do this and that to change, but honestly, you don't even know.

Is it my fault? Probably half of it.

You're no saint. It't your fault, too: Both of you.

I'm tired. I told you both didn't I?

I understand. But I never said it's easy.

In fact, it's hard. 

Too hard.

Can't you see the change I've undergone? Probably not.

I'm just another headache.

I'm still a kid.

Your words hurt. I feel unworthy.

Kind words unfaze me, I realise that.

Hurtful words stay with me; Just unforgettable.

You think I don't work hard enough: lacking and slacking.

But I've probably gone through sleepless nights already.

.

..

...

It's not you. It's me.

....At least I think.

It's etched in my head, in my heart, terribly, like a never closing scar.

.

..

...

You ask me what's wrong.

I tell you what's wrong, and what's not.

I don't think you get it.

I'm too mcuh of an introvert to be understood.

.

..

...

You've no idea how envious I am.

You both compare too much.

So, I might even hate her.

But I can't.

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..

...

Parenting. 

It's not perfect.