I’ve been faking happiness
acting like I’m okay when in actuality,
all of my bones are shattered into dust remains and resting in the souls of my shoes.
I wasn’t really great at this.
I was always told I was
“as easy to read as a book”
a simplistic book, I assumed.
One that anyone can comprehend, even from afar.
I am more like a Shakespearean piece
seemingly impossible to process
but with the codex, things begin to scratch the surface of sense.
It’s near impossible to understand what’s hidden behind the words and between the lines, now.
It can be interpreted so many ways
and is often taken the wrong one.
I want to be understood.
I want somebody to care enough to take the time to read through my pages and understand the mess of an alphabet.
I want somebody to see behind this façade.
I am thankful nobody does.
I can hide safely.
I am no longer bombarded with concern and questions.
I am no longer surrounded by pity.
I can focus on those I love rather than those I love focusing on me.
My joy isn’t always genuine but I am going to keep going until it is.