Why can't I get mad without being guilty?
I smile to conceal that I'm depressed.
I laugh to show, I'm not in pain.
I tell funny stories to pretend I'm happy but inside, I'm broken.
I sigh to ease the feeling that my existence was in vain.
I exert efforts which aren't shown to impress but they misinterpret.
I try to feel jolly to make others happy
yet deep in my head, I wish someone would do the same for me.
I wrote things to inspire.
I sing a song to make others feeling fine,
even others are not listening.
I ease the pain through painting.
Nature is my inspiration for most of my drawings.
To release the choking pain in my heart, I cry.
I wish all of them were deaf because I want to scream.
I want to shout all the pain, regret and worry that I have.
I wish shouting would ease these
even a bit of pain but it can't.
I'm still as emotional as ever.
I still feel worthless.
Everyone in the world seems happy except for me.
I'm angry with myself.
I escape the world through writing and crying.
It is an annoying feeling.
What I enjoy to do is the same thing that makes me escape from reality.
Why do I belong to this kind?
After I show madness, why can't I stand without feeling guilty?
Why do I feel that I'm too kind to understand everything?
I can always see positives beyond those deceptive and evident negatives.
Why do I create this way;
to feel the pain of seeing imperfections?
I don't know why I'm always this positive.
Why do all good things are in me?
Why can't I think negatives on others
even they show how rude they are?
Am I a saint?