Heart aches, my soul breaks.
I find comfort in the sadness, what is this madness.
Relax, they said, enjoy the time, but the emptiness does confine
I had a dream that I was covered in thorns. Dripping acid, my advances rejected by a screaming fleeing hoard. This disfigurement was self-inflicted. I knew this was just something in my head, so I tried with all my willpower to wake up. Then I realized; I was already awake.
When I talk to people I always stare, eyes like lasers.
Peering deep, glimpses of a self hidden behind the self
What you want people to see says a lot about who you actually are.
But then again, that’s just me.
Everyday, the battle constant, I get up in the morning and pretend.
Pretend that I know what I’m doing. Pretend that I am the person you want me to be.
Quiet, loud, cocky, rude, warm, cold. That’s all me.
I often wonder if I am being disingenuous, a being with a thousand masks
Or is this how it is for everyone?
Because despite all the work I do, Pride never comes easy.
Compliments are a foreign language; I never know how to respond.
Are they talking to me, or the mask I put on?
Can they see me?
These nights, at home in the dark, I often wonder: does anyone see past all the words and actions?
What do they see?
Because I feel the night, without a star in the sky. No moon, no wind, just lonely space.
Inside, all I feel is me.