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.”