Outlet Unplugged

 I-

I lost it.

My main outlet of speaking my feeling.

Criticized for being too literal.

Too choppy.

Too much.

Too little.

Too this.

Too that.

But I'm desperate.

You tried to shape me into what you thought

Was a piece of art.

Instead, I fell apart.

No longer an assignment, 

Months have passed with little to show.

But now, with few resources,

I'm forced to go back to one of my last resorts.

So I write.

I feel sick.

I feel tired.

I feel lost.

I feel alone.

People can swarm me,

But I'll still feel alone.

I'm not allowed to give up.

I can't. 

I don't want to.

I won't.

But these feelings feel too familiar. 

Let them pass by in a river,

But it's more like a waterfall.

That drop.

That's me in an instant.

Once more,

I hear "Fake it till you make it."

"If you fake laughing, you'll feel better."

I don't care about the studies,

I care about my reality.

Time and time again,

Year after year,

I've screamed

"FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT... but just. don't. break."

Laugh as I shed a tear,

But I can hide it behind my smiling.

If I smile, you don't see the details.

You don't want to see the details, do you?

Fake it till you make it,

So I hide the tear behind my mask.

If I mask, you don't see the details.

You don't want to see the details, do you?