I try to be happy—God knows I try.
I wear the smile, say the right words,
laugh when I should, nod when expected.
But it never feels real. It never feels mine.

Family gathers, voices rise, laughter spills.
They ask why I stay away,
why I choose the quiet over the noise,
why I don’t try to belong.

But how do I explain
that solitude is easier than pretending?
That I hold my distance
not out of pride, but out of self-preservation?
That I stay away so I don’t spill my pain,
so I don’t ruin their joy with my silence?

They call me distant, cold, uninterested.
They push, they pry, they force me into things
I once loved but now feel like burdens.
And when I resist, I become the problem,
the one who kills the vibe.

But they don’t know what lingers in my mind—
the thoughts that loop, the memories that bite,
the what-ifs that keep me up at night.
I make up stories that feel too real,
convince myself I’m losing it,
but maybe I’m not. Maybe this is just life.

And maybe one day,
they’ll sit around laughing, not noticing I’m gone.
Maybe they’ll call my name and get silence back.
Maybe they’ll wonder why I never said a word.
And maybe, just maybe—
they’ll finally listen.

In a world where joy and sorrow blend,  
We wear our smiles, though hearts may bend.  
The laughter fades, and shadows creep,  
A heavy burden that we all must keep.

In moments where the heart should soar,  
Instead, we feel a quiet war.  
The joy that once filled up our days,  
Now leaves us lost in a dismal haze.

We reach out, hoping to be heard,  
But find no comfort in a word.  
Alone, we craft a mask of cheer,  
To hide the pain, to mask the fear.

Yet deep within, we all the same,  
Carry wounds that have no name.  
In this silent, shared despair,  
Know that you're not alone out there.