Maybe if I was different,
things would be too.
But I change for no one,
not even you.

I just want you to know,
that I'm what you made me.
So you can kick at me, scream at me,
go ahead, hate me.

It's not like I ever cared,
or ever cried.
It's not like you loved me,
or even tried.

It's always about what I'm doing wrong,
and what you're doing right.
So maybe you're the one with the problem,
maybe you should leave tonight.

I guess I just don't see,
see what I did wrong.
So what's the matter?
Don't you love me, mom?

 
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