why do you look so dead? and they're laughing as they say it,
and they're hoping i would laugh too.
because apparently not knowing anything of what i go through,
all the thoughts that i'm holding inside
is alright.
and it's funny.
why are you so boring? and they're whining as they say it,
and they're hoping i would suddenly crack and start entertaining them.
as if im a circus, as if i was born to bleed out jokes and make them laugh as i hurt and hurt and ignore it.
it's alright.
i'll still look like the outgoing girl, the one who they look to when they want to laugh.
after all, that's what they prefer. not some person who cries out her pain onto her already soaked pillows, or who clutches her blankets to not scream out the aching.
it's alright.
they matter more than i do anyways.
