You make me smile, but you make me hurt.

You make me smile, tell me all these nice things.

Then you start talking about my insecurities.

You say you’re joking, but it’s deeper than that.

People kill themselves over things others say—

What if I did that? Would that ruin your day?

I know it would, I don’t even know why I asked.

But why do things, if the hurt may never pass?

You make me feel cold, like I’m not good enough.

You joke about other females, leaving me wondering—

Am I enough?

I really do like you, but your actions don’t match.

You came at me first, thinking you’d get hurt.

Instead, I healed you and wiped your tears.

I wonder if you’ll leave me for my ex-best friend.

You say you’re joking, don’t want her, but that won’t matter—

Not until the end.

I catch you in lies, but I brush them off.

Then I overthink, wondering why you don’t just tell the truth,

Why not say it all?

I stepped out of my comfort zone just to make you happy.

I went from depressed to happy on the outside—

But inside, I died.

I went from hating you, saying I’d never be friends with you,

To liking you again, but this time—I love you.