Do I have a good heart?

Am I capable of staying golden?

Will the people who hurt me continue to strive?

While I silently play it off instead of cry.

There are days when I dream of love,

Days where I think to myself that I am beautiful enough.

You told me I was warm.

I must be good.

I must be golden.

So why didn’t the world see that?

Why am I still alone?

If I am golden,

Where did I go wrong?

Where did they go?

Why am I still alone?

If I am golden,

How does the world not notice?

Why does the sun avoid me?

And why does the moon tell me she’s sorry?

If I am golden,

Why does it hurt so much?

Where should I be living now?

What should I be learning?

If I am golden,

It doesn’t make much sense.

A piece of me will always stay broken.

Even when I start to realize I’ve always been golden.