The Pretense of Caring

Milking a fear that is not mine,
repeating the phrases, toeing the line.
I mouth the words, pretending to care,
but inside I’m hollow—
there’s nothing there.

I long for an escape, to flee this place,
to shed this mask, to find my space.
Life is calling, a distant sound,
but I am bound to this hollow ground.

Imitation wears thin, a paper-thin veil—
pretending to feel, but inside I’m frail.
The real thing, raw and unrefined,
only leaves me tangled, lost in my mind.

I’ve tried to grasp the threads of truth,
but they slip through my fingers,
a ghost of youth.
For the real thing, it burns too bright,
leaves me frustrated, caught in its light.

So I give up—let the world spin on,
let them keep pretending; I'll be gone.
I want no part in this empty charade,
no more fears that aren’t mine to parade.

The effort to fit, the struggle to feign,
has drained my spirit, brought only pain.
I need an escape, to shed this skin,
to find a place where I can begin again.

For life is calling, but I cannot hear
beyond the echoes of doubt and fear.
Perhaps one day I’ll break away
from the shackles of pretense,
and find my way.

But for now, I’m tired, I let it go—
a soul adrift in a world I don’t know.
Milking a fear, repeating the lie,
waiting for the courage to finally fly.