By Bhavika Gupta
He doesn’t cry because he is weak;
He cries because he has been strong for quite a while.
All he does is laugh and smile,
Because he doesn’t express his emotions in front of the world.
His face, always smiling,
His eyes, always hiding.
The urge not to be called a coward,
Never overshadows a million fears.
He always puts others first,
And doesn’t care about himself.
Not sleeping on time, overthinking at 3 am,
Becomes quite a hefty despair.
He always makes others giggle,
But is often broken and hurting on the inside.
He, when drenched in the rain,
Wishes to cover and cry.
He might always be surrounded by a group,
But still feels quite lonely and alone.
He might be the most popular,
But to himself, he’s still unalive.
He might always fill colors into others’ lives,
But his own days are frequently dull and dark.
His eyes might always gleam and sparkle,
But they conceal an agony hidden beneath the spark.
He says he has no insecurities,
He says he’s not weak.
But he’s the one who cries,
And he’s the one who pleads.
He tries to hide his feelings,
His emotions, thoughts and fear.
But what he often forgets is,
That his eyes speak loud and clear.