I think she’s mistaken

when she looks into your silver

eyes.

She yells at you, and sometimes

she cries.

But she doesn’t know what you

do late at night,

Or how that metal between

your fingers never feels right.

You know that time will pass,

And that these heavy feelings

surely won’t last.

But staring at the clock won’t

make it move fast,

And hurting yourself won’t

make you less sad.

I see you — I always do.

I see you when the sky turns pink

and when it’s blue.

Your honey-blonde hair was once

a deeper hue.

And when your mother yells again,

please tell her that I love you.