You don’t know my favourite colour or the one song that can always make me cry.
You don’t know my sisters name or what grade I got for that english essay last week.
And I could tell you but you won’t be interested because you don’t care about all that stuff.
The only thing you want from me is the only thing you want from every girl, and I’m not okay with that.
Because you don’t know my favourite book, my biggest phobia or how many sugars I put in my tea.
And I’m not prepared to give you all the personal parts of me when you don’t know the reason for these scars on my wrists.
Hell, you don’t even know they are there.
