"You're okay?" they ask,
like it's a button they press,
expecting the same response
every time.
But how do I say
I’m falling apart quietly?
That I smile so no one sees
how lost I feel inside?
That even breathing
feels like borrowing time,
and my heart isn’t broken—
just… empty.
That I’m tired,
not just physically,
but the kind of tired
that seeps into your bones
and stays.
That I ache
for a pause,
not attention.
Just a breath
that doesn’t come with guilt.
But I see their eyes—
small talk eyes,
not the kind that wait
for real answers.
So I nod,
pull the curtain closed,
tighten the mask I’ve grown used to,
and whisper,
“All good.”
And they smile,
satisfied.
And I
shrink a little more inside.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
