I haven’t posted in a really long time. This is a poem that I’m making up as I type.
Why can’t anyone see my pain? The way I really feel?
Why do my friends think my smiles
are genuine? Why?
Why do people believe that I am fine, when I give subtle
hints that I’m not? Why can’t they see
past the mask I put on? Why?
Why do my parents ask questions when they know that I
won’t answer? Why do they believe my mask
of smiles and lies? Why?
Why do I feel the way I do? Why do I choose to continue
what I hate? Why am I such a screw up?Why
am I here on this earth? Why?