"A Journey Through The Eyes of A Poet"

Getting Better At Hiding

I walk along the edge of the earth's surface.

between death and being alive.

I could choose any minute

But I don't have to decide.

Not yet.

Not now.

This world is open to so many possibilities.

but I'm too weak to try any of them.

Forced to feel faux happiness,

in the face of others.

I forgot how to smile.

But I remembered how to lie.

I remembered how to play pretend.

Where are you?

I called for you in my darkest hour,

and you're still not here.

Why do you get to stay in a world of happiness,

while I have to breathe the black tar of depression.

The iron wraught of blood, from an anxiety induced panic attack.

If I blocked the world out,

I wouldn't have to say a word.

I wouldn't have to speak

It makes me selfish, right?

Right.

Instant gratification isn't what I want.

attention isn't what I crave.

I plead to be left alone.

And yet, I remember there are people who need me.

So I have to stay.

I have to talk.

I have to pretend.

I have to lie.

to myself.

Because tomorrow, I'll smile

tomorrow, I'll laugh.

Tomorrow is always "better" than today.

but is it Better?

Or have I just gotten better at hiding?