Disappointed.

I wish you were mad at me.

Disappointment is worse.

You disapprove of everything I am working on.

When I say I am working on it, you tell me it’s not good enough.

It hurts me.

Not being good enough.

Not.

Good.

Enough.

Ever.

What will it take?

I have spent my whole life.

My whole life on making sure everyone else is happy.

With who I am, with whatever happiness I had.

Fake smiles is all I have left.

I am happy for only so long.

Until it all comes down.

But there you go, I will be your therapist and help you. I will be here for you.

You won’t be there for me.

I want to tell everybody but I won’t.

I will expect someone to come to my rescue.

Me a damsel in distress.

Hard to imagine.

Hardened to the point I can’t cry.

Can’t cry for help.