I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere besides where I should be. I'm never where I should be. One thing after another but the first is never as important as the next and the next never compares to what follows. "I'm trying my hardest" sometimes I just want to shout out at the world. I'm trying my hardest, but I'm not doing my best. It's not my full potential. I'm trying my hardest but I'm not doing my best. Your not here. I'm not there. Whichever way you look at it, it never works. You say you wish you could be with me every moment and never stray from me, but when I am around you I'm not good enough. I stay with my friends because I don't like being home... Unless it is a true home. The way it used to be. But I know it cannot be that way. And even if she was like my real mom it would still be different. You used to be the one that was always gone, and when you came home I would be delighted to see you. You were the light of my life. But seeing you everyday is different. I'm always getting yelled at. Getting the guilt trip put on my because I'm never home and you moved just for me. Always thinking you know everything about me and just assuming things because I'm not a very big talker. You think you can put the words about life into my mouth. You think I am yours. Theoretically that is true, but we are different. Your uptight and you try to be relaxed and casual about everything but when you think you are I can see that you really aren't. Everything has to be perfect. Everything has to be straight up and down. No curves. No corners. Just up one side and down the other. I wish we could be a loving, talking, close, caring family. A family where when you get home from a five day trip the first thing you say isn't "Did you take the trash out?" And it could instead be "I missed you so much!" And get a big hug. I guess that's what makes us stand out. But it's not the way it used to be. It used to be like that, but not anymore. I'm not perfect, and neither are you and it can't always be so clean cut. Life cannot be planned or perfected. There is a reason for everything, but we never realize it. We can't until we look back on that occasion and finally see why it happened. And sometimes by the time that happens we could already be gone.