Poetry

Empty Lies

I'm not real.

This world around me,

nothing.

Those who look at me

and call me their

daughter

friend

are not mine, never were.

To just sit here,

empty,

and just cry

and hurt

and wallow

and write

would be lovely.

But they make me

stand

dress

lie

be,

fake my way through.

And so I rise.

I stand.

I dress.

But in black;

I do not lie.

I go.

I am.

But empty.