Others

You come to me as an excuse for your problems 

but I cant even fix my own

I'm seen as an outlet for others pain

but I'm not even an outlet for myself

I love the feeling of knowing everything

but I don't really know a thing

The cutthroat hurt of your pain hurts me

but I still listen to help you

I try my hardest to be the one that everyone needs

but I can't even need myself

Laughing is an excuse for my insecurities 

but my laughter can only go so far

I feel wanted because of all of you rpain

but your pain is only occasional

The joy I have in helping will hopefully carry me far

but the joy I have in people won't

Your hurt and pain is pressed into my soul

but it doesn't bother me

I listen for myself and the betterness of you

but I think its normal

I don't understand how it's hard for others to listen

but I won't say anything because this is for me

The sharp hurt in your voice when you tell me your suicidal cuts me like a knife

I try my hardest and I speak to you this time

but how many this times are there?

You need help so why do you come to me?

I'm only a person trying to survive myself, why am I the answer?

Why am I the only one who others come to in there darkeness?

Why do I shine through more than anyone else?

Why am I the one?

Why