Fake it Til You Make it

“Are you alright?” he asked,
looking at me in that way
he always does, as if he’s
never really seen me before
(more truth there than poetry).

“I’m as good as usual,” I replied,
unable to pretend for one minute more.

“You were more talkative yesterday,”
he stated, clinical as the
sterile experts who always sit,
elbows digging into their desks,
hands clasped in a triangle shape,
icily staring over their files at me.

Matter of factly as I could while
absentmindedly staring off into
the horizon as I am wont to do,
I answered, “Yesterday, I was
better at faking it.”


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