Another day....

I’m trying to be what everyone wants me to be but all they see is an act. I’m not happy. I don’t like who they want me to be. But I fake a smile for your happiness. Do you care if I’m not happy? Do you even think about what would make me happy? The only way I feel better is through my work. My poems and stories my family thinks are dumb and a waste of time. The only way I can deal is by talking with people who get me, and those people are people with the same hobby. I think its worth a try to be myself even if its only in writting.