The "F" word

I may not be willing to share my secrets.

I usually avoid them when problems hover over me.

I sometimes don't ask how their lives are.

And I'm not willing to sacrifice some things.

But I think I am a decent one.

Just because I smile, it doesn't mean I'm not hurt.

Just because there are no tears, it doesn't mean I'm not crying inside.

I don't have many close ones, because I'm scared it will happen again.

Or maybe it's because I'm only decent, and much more is expected of me.

The voices that fade with my arrival,

The glances whirling my way, impossible for me to decipher,

The short quips contrasting with the laughter shared with others,

The lack of life, warmth, and belonging in my own small world.

I check the boundaries, mark them closer,

Tuck myself closer inwards,

And continue.

Maybe these things don't actually happen.

But when it happens, I don't heal.

I'm angry.  I'm hurt.  I'm guilty.  I'm frustrated.  I'm subdued.

I may not be the best one,

But I will never do or say anything to hurt them.

... then why are they doing it to me?