Her Mask

She always responds, “I’m fine.”
Even when the people who care enough to take notice do.
“I’m fine.”
She always assures us.
But with that response, she’s not just trying to convince us.
She’s trying to convince herself that maybe one day,
she will be close enough to fine
that she can answer that question without the mask on.
“I’m fine.”
The people around aren’t helping at all.
Always pushing her around
both in the figurative and literal sense.
And she’s just exhausted.
So exhausted that sometimes, she lets her mask slip without realizing it.
“I’m fine.”
She would love to tell someone, she really would.
No one knows how hard it is for her to do anything anymore.
Not her parents. Not her best friend.
They don’t know because she knows what they would say.
Oh, she’s just overexaggerating. She’s just having a bad day.
Well, that bad day turned into a week, a month, a year.
She just can’t let it be a bad life or all hope is lost.
She tries really hard to seem okay
but, she gets called weird because sometimes, she overcompensates.
She’s learned not to expect too much or for them to understand.
She knows with greater expectations, come greater disappointments.
So much disappointment.
Enough that her sadness turns into emptiness
and she'd rather be sad than completely empty altogether.
She’s halfway there already
And no one bothers to look through the mask long enough
To see what’s left inside.