Not So Lovely Poems

How am I?

How am I? How am I, well why do you ask? Oh, well I feel as if I am suffocating, forced to hide under a mask of someone I am not, for fear of what others would say or do or think. People judge before they blink, refusing to see how they would feel if they were me, but I don't say a thing, too afraid that if I speak, that they will hear but not listen to what I have to say, and I no longer want to play this game when every time I look left or right, they always talk about me, refusing to admit such things. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but the burning in my throat and the tightness in my chest and sting in my eyes, threatening tears is something I cannot deny. If I told them how I really feel, would they look past reason, calling me a liar, acting as if that is not how I feel? As if they would know how I react to their acts, when nothing feels real, when I can't stop the thoughts from entering my mind, when they don't even feel like mine? If I even acted on such thoughts, would they continue to deny the way that I feel? I don't want help, no, but I want someone to listen, just for once, turning their thoughts off, but then again I'd still assume that their judgement is against me, and maybe I'm right. Maybe they don't care, maybe they don't want to know, maybe they don't want it to be true, but it is. I'd still assume that they think of me as a quiz, a quiz where all the answers are known to them, but in reality, they wouldn't know how to answer even one correctly. I make a silent plea, that one day I will be able to tell the truth, to use my voice, and say; I am not okay. But for now, I shall continue my façade, and so when someone asks, I have it down to an simple lie. How am I? I am fine.

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