The Bitter Truth Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

You are not whom you seem to be.
You are not even the people you claim to be.
Your personas, your façades represent you daily.
The only time that you are yourselves is when you are, mainly,
deep in sleep or in mourning.
Come morning,
Come pretence, the damned torments!
You dress yourselves in expensive garments.
You wear learned confidence
as persistence.
Smiles are fake continually;
You wear pretence dogmatically.
You are exhausting.
And your act is equally exhausting.
You march onto the stage;
You refuse to turn over to the next page.
Your bodies are forever on set;
You are in the character they met.
You live the life you make;
You enjoy being fake.