When you were little,
And you fell down,
They would ask you where it hurt
And you would point to your knee, elbow, or hands,
And they would make it better.
But you noticed,
As you got older,
If you fell,
They would never ask where it hurt.
You sit silently in your room,
Waiting for someone to ask you where it hurts,
Pointing to your head, your heart.
Because that is where the pain hurts the most.
But nobody asks.
And nobody makes it better.