I’m masked up, always masked up.
When I let it slip, my commitment to this ‘friendship’ is questioned and shunted.
You’re elated when I’m doting over you and my attention is all about you.
You have developed a taste for motivational speakers in your circles. You like playing princess and promoting your view on women catering to men.
When I’m focused on my work, you cry neglect.
Your smiles are present when I feed you.
But what of the days when I’m at a low point? You shake and shunt, I fall off, and you’re the one crying.
I had knives in my back, and tears blurred my vision as I bled out. Yet you’re upset because I hadn’t said hello.
Who can see through suffering?
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