i tell you i’m okay but then i sit in my car, trembling while i try to keep myself here.

i tell you i’m tired and then i lay awake all night wondering what it would be like to not be here tomorrow.

i tell you i’ve moved on and yet i still scream in my car over it.

i tell you i’m busy and then i go lay down until i work to keep my mind off of things.

i tell you i’m just irritated, maybe it’s my period, and then i pound on my bed asking why i had to go through that.

i tell you my eyes hurt from my contacts, but it’s really just to hide the fact i’m about to bawl my eyes out.

i tell you i’m out of shape, but really i can’t breathe with his weight on top of me.

i tell you i’m just cold, but i thought if i wore something nice everyone would think i was asking for it.

i tell you having my hair up ruins my hair, but really im trying to hide my face so i’m less recognizable.

i tell you i’m an easy target, and then i beat myself up for letting him in.

i tell you i believe everything happens for a reason, but i’m still screaming wondering why it happened to me.

i tell you i’m excited for my future, but all i think about is whether i’ll ever get past this.

i tell you there’s nothing big happening in my life, but i just can’t talk about what’s actually going on.

i tell you i don’t feel good, but really my mind is wandering all over the place and i can’t seem to real in my thoughts.

i tell you i don’t ever think about it anymore, but truth is i don’t ever stop thinking about it.

i tell you i’ve gotten better, but honestly i’ve just gotten worse.

i tell you it’s made me stronger, but i’m barely holding on by a thread.

i tell you i’m okay, because i don’t want you to believe that i’m not.