open letters to no one

cover and content

everyone knows not to judge by the cover, but what else do you look at on the shelves at the library?
I've always selected books from a glance at their spines and checked out ones that caught my eye
and maybe that's why I can't stop working so hard to display a perfect front myself.

thought I was finally getting over being the responsible one, always achieving flawless reliable grades, maintaining my spotless, sparkling record
but I can't seem to stop pretending and working, endlessly, on the cover of the book of me so it shows exactly what they want (and expect) it to.
for a minute, I felt so close to lowering my buffer at last and vocalizing my thoughts for once, twice, all the time
(being myself).

and now I'm back at square one all over again with more easy, agreeing smiles and excuses and conformity.
but this time, I remember what it's like to say no.

(what hurts is that I was almost there. my eyes were finally starting to sparkle,
the clothes I wore felt like me,
my opinions were never held back or even filtered, but confidently stated,
and I began to play my beloved music aloud on my speaker instead of wearing my headphones all day and all night,
no longer afraid of any comments my mom might make)

but now, my shackles snapped back on and no one seems to even bother to look past the cover anyway
to the content it hides, the pages I
bleed onto using verbs, smiles, experiences.

(my cover is smeared all over with my blood-red thoughts and the shockingly blue hue of my original ideas, and painted over with a smile that looks just like theirs no matter how much I practice in the mirror trying to find something that looks like me)

so this time, I also know it's not worth it. I want to throw the book of me into a raging, cleansing fire where no one will see the cover again
and my pages will stop screaming
and finally be seen, appreciated, consumed
(if only by flickering flames).

no one ever asked if I was okay
and listened to the answer.