I have never found worth in anything I have done, except my acting. It must be pretty good considering nobody suspects a thing. Everyday I wake up and remorsefully crawl to my wardrobe and jump my frail skeleton into the skin of another. I dig around for a while to find my mask with an artificial smile and place it over my lifeless face. It must do a great job at concealing my darkest secrets, because no one mentions a thing, and when acquaintances ask the dreaded question: 'Are you okay?', I put my bravest voice forward and sputter out an 'I'm fine', and they casually brush it off and carry on about their day. The way nobody can tell I am not who I pretend to be, proves that my acting is excellent.
-m.r.
YOU ARE READING
A Book Of Poems You Wish You Couldn't Relate To
PoetryA collection of poems delicately written that are painful to relate to.
