Perfect on the Outside

Sometimes I wonder what I've done.

Why me?

What did I do, to deserve all of this?

It's actually quite often I want to run,

Run,

To run from my fears

And the judgmental gazes of my peers.

*

I hate to look into a mirror,

Lake, river or pond.

 If I can see the ripples of my reflections,

In the clear, cool surfaces,

Suddenly, I feel suffocated.

*

Those ripples clearly show everything I've done,

Everything,

All the things I've seen.

Ripples that clearly remind me:

My life is a desperate play,

Acts filled with drama and dreams,

Scene after scene of humiliation and pain.

*

I act for the director, the play write,

And the puppeteer

Who is holding my strings.

I do as I am told,

and live for all but myself.

*

Sometimes I wonder what I've done.

When all my life does is scream;

COMPLICATION!

When the ripples are suddenly:

WAVES!

When my heart is shredded into:

PIECES!

And my past is risen from it's:

GRAVE!

*

A life that is barely lived.

A life so fake it is clear.

A life lived for others, for fear of disappointing.

A life lived to make others proud.

A life wasted.

*

The ripples fuel my urge to run.

And though I want to cowed;

To show my true colors,

To be me.

 I still stand.

I still stand and lie.

I still act.