ripped from your fingers when you’d finally gotten the grasp, snatched from your hands that’s it – that’s a wrap. you got one chance, you should’ve tried harder – oh, you felt your life was falling apart? Er —-
too bad, no second chances. the decision’s been made, your input be damned. it’s all a game that’s being played where we forget that our players can be human too. they struggle with emotions, some more than others do.
we give it our all, but is it ever enough? or do we keep ripping opportunities when the going gets rough?
you think you know me better than I do – but how do I prove you wrong when after all I’ve been through, everything I’ve tried isn’t good enough for you.
You ripped this from my fingers, stomped on it with your shoe. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?
The worst thing about masks when you’re astute, aware, intuitive to emotions others are experiencing –
Eyes are a window to the soul, they say. You give yourself away when your Eyes don’t tell the same story as your words. Squint, wink, blink, raise eyebrows.
So when I tell you how I’ve been feeling lately, you hide your worry from your voice, under your mask, but I see it in your eyes. I know you want to ask, I know you want to cry, you care, you’re concerned – how could I ever think I wanted to die? You stay strong, but I feel your emotion inside all because of your soft, sad eyes.
The mask makes them pop, I can’t help but notice. I feel worse knowing you’re worried; you have enough on your plate and now – oh wait – here’s one more thing.
Your eyes gave away what you tried to hide. The worst thing about masks is your eyes are magnified. I can see right through them, you’re terrified – I’m sorry I’ve become a burden.
On the outside she looks like she’s barely trying.
On the inside she feels like she’s slowly dying.
When would someone see the signs of a broken girl who’s running out of time?
Her mind – a hive of soul-killing ideas that she’s unworthy, unlovable, unwanted, undeniably unnecessary to anyone.
Check on your friends who smile through pain. Check on your friends who work hard to maintain some semblance that everything’s always okay come rain, come sun, come cloudy day –
for the face they wear is but a mask glue-filled cracks waiting for someone to finally ask “be honest, please, are you okay?” so they can admit “it’s all a display; i’m so damn tired of being awake, desperately looking to finally escape.”
I’m sorry for venting when you wanted quiet. I’m sorry for crying instead of just being silent. I’m sorry for thinking I had your shoulder to lean on. I’m sorry for relying on the vows we agreed on. I’m sorry for asking you to feel some emotion. I’m sorry for hoping you’d have a solution.
I’ll just go back to keeping to myself now that I know you don’t want to help.
It is fake though, full of smiling faces, pictures of places people go to escape what goes on behind the scenes.
We scroll mindlessly every night, think of how good everyone else has it while we sit and suffer because our life sucks in comparison.
A couple in love, a friend thriving in their career; we think we want what they have because we can’t see the bickering, the late nights, the feeling of being alone, the endless debt, the texts from another lover, the fear of losing it all with one mistake.
Social media makes us want what we can’t have when in reality, no one has it in the first place.
We can’t base our feelings on what we see online. I’m not going to keep making this mistake. I’m taking a fucking Facebook break.
What if I’m not? What if it’s bad? How much can I say? It’s a mind game I always have to play – do they really want to know if I’m having a bad day? There’s nothing they can do for me anyway because much to my dismay –