By NayEunique:
Waking up from my restless slumber, I immediately
I knew what kind of day it would be.
Another one filled with just trying to make it,
Of barely holding on, another day of a sad me.
I do the best I can, to get ready to face the day.
Making a sincere effort to not look as bad as I feel.
I smile and nod, pretend I’m good.
Trying my best to conceal what’s real.
And then a person happily says “Morning!”. And then just walks away.
Like they’ve said nothing. Just a mere greeting. I try my damndest
Not to cry as my brain can’t quite decipher
The word’s true meaning.
How could they tell? How could they know? Even with my smile,
Can they see my sorrow? They had to have meant morning.
Just morning. But for me, it’s always mourning.
Mourning in the morning. Mourning and day. Mourning and night.
Even when I try to bury it, like a horror movie, it just keeps popping back up,
And grabbing me tight.
Mourning…
Have you ever missed who you were, or missed what you thought you could be?
Missed the thoughts, dreams, prayers you had,
Before shredded by disease?
It is truly bizarre to have died so many different times and yet
Still be breathing.
Despair, heartbreak, frustration. I do my best to keep it all contained, but not so deep down,
I’m constantly seething.
No way they meant mourning. Just morning. Come on mental. Calm down.
Chill.
I’ll chalk it up to the lesions as to why it’s so hard
For my peace to just remain still.
I’ll do what I can, to seem upbeat, keep a grin on my face, sound positive,
Make conversation animated, not boring.
My grief, usually folks can never tell.
Just know, when you greet me,
I’m at expert level of ‘Good Mourning’,
A pro at faking that all is well.
