Imposter

People often call our waking world

"real life".

But I disagree.

The only place that seems

truly real to me

is the cold reality of my dreams.

A place where the real feelings

are visible, where the fake smiles

plastered on the world's face

c r a c k.

Gone with the fasle,

practiced smile

that does not reach the eyes

and out comes the dark flame 

of anxiety,

of sadness,

roaring underneath.

Dreams are hard to face.

But I would rather have my cold,

hard reality

and know how people 

really, truly feel,

than look out at the 

imposter smiles 

that slip from people's faces

in the moments that they are alone.

"Imposter, faker, lair!"

I sometimes wish to cry.

But the moment I let myself

question those around me,

my own reality would shatter.

And all I'd have left

would be the pieces to be picked up

and a fake, imposter smile 

spread across

my

own

unwilling

face.