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?