You ask me to tell you what is wrong

But the better question would be what is right

Because everything is wrong

Yet you say I can tell you anything 

But how do I tell you anything

Without telling you everything?

How could I tell you that she cuts herself?

How could I tell you he tried to kill himself?

How could I tell you they’re on drugs?

That she’s pregnant?

That he’s schizophrenic?

How do I tell you she throws up hourly?

How do I tell you they struggle with their sexuality?

How do I tell you he puts bruises on her face?

That she’s looking for love in the wrong place?

That he steals so he can eat?

That their parents hit them?

How do I tell you I am depressed?

How do I tell you I feel ugly?

How do I tell you I am a mess?

That I hate you?

That I hate them?

That I hate myself?

 

I won’t tell you anything

Because telling you everything

Will change nothing