You're not like them;
your mind isn't focused on one thing.
You love me for more than how I look
and that's a first for me.
You've seen what's inside
and in spite of that, still love me.
And I, I don't even like myself,
not for what's under the skin.
And you've seen me implode;
you've lived my pain secondhand.
You try to help me through it,
but the hurt cuts deep.
You may love me for many reasons,
but I can't even think of one.