You all think that I'm the one
Who should be helping you.
You all think I've got life figured out,
That I would never be taboo

You all think that I am perfect,
Reaching for the stars.
But really I've got issues
And they are leaving scars.

You all think that I am independent,
That I don't need a helping hand
But my world sinks beneath me
As if it is made out of sand.

You've seen something sad
When you look into my eyes
But you can't figure what it is,
You can't identify.

You figure that it's nothing,
A gleam from a light.
But you're wrong, it's really there,
It's the reason that I write.

You'll simply look it over.
It's something you can't undertsand.
You'll think of me the same,
You'll see me as a helping hand.

But I can't help you all,
I can't always be your ideal.
I've got worse problems of my own,
There's so much that I conceal.