My phoney outlook

My despair helplessly stands naked.

You shame me.

Say that my misery makes you uncomfortable.

I am forced to put on some lingerie of less-sad expressions.

Yet, it is not sufficient for you.

You demand me to cover my sorrow “properly”. For my own safety.

As per your order, I drape myself with the outfit of a pretentious smile.

You are still shaking your head.

To meet your expectations, I wear an expensive make-up of a happy face.

Perfect! I thought now you would approve.

But you twitch your nose, raise your brow and say,

“Uhh, this is so extra. You are looking so fake. Go back and try again.”