They tell me time and again,
and shed tears.
Tell me how I sit alone, act lonely,
and make them feel the same.
How I forget that they need love.
How I make them miserbale by being myself.
How my every word is fake, every deed selfish.
I tell them again and again
that’s not me.
I am all that they complain about.
Even if every hour of mine is devoted
to not let them feel this.
Love and concern
are not something that grows
naturally in my heart.
I have never known a time when they have.
Even if I have put fake flowers
in this garden of mine,
it is only for your sake.
Don’t you think I care enough
to tell you the words I can never believe.
Don’t you think my love is enough,
if it wants you to sit in the shade
of the tree I have made leaf by leaf.
Every smile I have ever faked
leaves a residue
of questions on my lips.
“Why is it,
that this smile can’t be real?
Why is it,
that the world is so easily convinced by my lie?
Why don’t they try to break
this facade when they see it
in which I am trapped?”
Yesterday the fire alarm rang.
We pretended to run
even though we knew of this lie.
Cause we were convinced
this will keep us alive,
when (if) our worst fear
(out of so many)
And in the open
where it was supposed to be safe
(as if any place in this world is safe)
when it started to drizzle,
people just wanted to run to a shelter.
Even if it meant taking refuge
in the building they ran away from
with fake fire.
And so like always,
like all of us,
they ran from one place to another,
one fear to another.
And I realized I was too tired to run now.
Running from fire,
running from rain,
running from commitments,
running from love,
running from myself.
I was too tired.
“I’m fake because I could not see my individuality suffer the animosity of judges”