Who cares about me? Behind the walls, behind the things that I do let people see, who cares about me? What would happen if someone actually tried to walk a mile in my shoes instead of criticizing the the dirt on my boots? What would happen if someone actually cared about the scars on my heart? Would someone listen to their story, or would they try and put some gauze over my chest to hide it? When I hit the on coming storm will I have anyone next to me, holding me through it, or will my multitude of fair weather friends blow away on the wind?
At my funeral who will be crying because they miss me? Who will be crying because they didn’t tell me something? Who will be crying because they never tried to get to know me? Who will be crying happily because they did get to know me? Will anyone be crying like that?
I wonder how many people hate me? How many people dislike me? How many people don’t care? Who cares? How many like me? Who loves me?
Who cares about who I am? Who cares that I was bullied when I was little? Who cares that my biological father divorced my mom before I was born? Who cares that I was popular, but I didn’t have any real friends? Who cares that I have skills? Who hates me because of them? Who cares that I have always been terrorized by mean girls in my life? Who cares that I’m scared of spiders? Who cares that I ride horses? Who cares that I love playing video games? Who cares that I still don’t feel comfortable in dresses? Who cares that I still wear them, anyway? Who knows that I’m uncomfortable when people complement me? Who knew that I haven’t had any true friends until recently?
Who cares that I became a Christian when I was twelve? Who knew that I’d die for Christ and my true friends? Do I have any true friends? Do they themselves know whether or not I think of them as true friends? Who will be happy when I die? Who would die for me?
Who cares that I just typed in some of the things that have been walled up in my heart? Who cares to know the rest?
Who cared to read this?