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.
is finding the balance of too much caffeine, the pressure of impending deadlines, and sleep-deprivation induced delirium