False Hope

Sometimes I lie.

I tell myself that I'm okay,

and that I believe in myself.

Even when my words tear across my lips,

I say it doesn't hurt.

Yet deep within me,

I feel grief.

Is this all that's waiting for me?

Do I prefer to succumb to my weaknesses,

Or to succumb to this harsh world?

I will never be enough for them,

Or for myself.

I look in the mirror and see all the things I want to fix,

Because I can't afford to see color,

on black and grey painting.

Sometimes I lay,

and wonder how much more I should push?

Maybe the doors are too hard to open,

because they aren't meant for me.

Maybe all this fighting for a place in this world,

isn't worth it.

I would much rather prefer the ignorant bliss,

of never trying to succeed,

than to fail

and prove that I never belonged there.

But there are too many bodies on my back.

Pushing me to places I don't want to go,

Because their weight only leaves,

If I find them a safe place to stay,

Even if it causes me to lose my place,

or to lose my sense of identity.