I feel shy, I sometimes lie. When there are quiet days, I let them waste away. When my thoughts are bad, it is to you I am mad. When the days hurt, it is with despair I flirt. I want to live with glee, but sometimes inside me, I feel bad, even on days when I am not sad. I look to them for help, but the truth I cannot yelp. I struggle through, without even a rue, doing the work I have to do, and I hope you do too.