Why Aren't I Loved?

From the viewpoint of a teenage outcast.

With each and every passing day,
I wonder if this is the right way.
I call for help, but no one cares.
Everyone's too busy with their own affairs.
So it's like no words ever came out,
And with each hour, more hope turns to doubt.
No one cares that I am alive.
And no one would care if I were to die.
And every night like a lonely dove,
I ask myself, why aren't I loved?