Everyone asks me, “Are you okay?”
I always respond the same way.
“Yeah. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
But I’m not.
I don’t let people see me cry, because I’ve always been so happy.
Yet, sometimes smiling is the hardest thing to do.
Every time I come home, dead inside.
“Was school okay?”
It was the same as yesterday. It wasn’t.
“Yeah, I had a good day.”
I did not.
I constantly ask myself the same question every day, yet to be answered.
“If I died tomorrow, would anyone care?”
People expect the same thing when they first meet me.
Yes, I am.
On the outside.
People will never get close enough to who I am and who I will be.
No one will care enough to get that close.
Is that my fault?
It’s not my fault.
But my fake smile is.
My fake smile is not for me.
My fake emotions aren’t for me.
My depression is hiding, but not for me.
I show what people want me to show.