I’d tell you about the hurt,
but you don’t care.

I’d tell you that I can’t take it,
but you’d gather the soundtracks
proving I’ve said that for 20 years.

I’d tell you it is too much for me
but you’d say that I’m lucky
to have so many good things
and such support.

I’d tell you that there’s
no one to talk to,
but you’d tell me
everyone feels like that.

I’d tell you it screams
so loud inside,
but you’d tell me
we all have our struggles.

I’d tell you I need
a helpmate,
but you’d
pass the window
in the mall,
looking through
the inside-glass.

Whatever!