Alternate title for The Great Gatsby:
I Am Uncomfortable With Your Personal Drama And I Want To Go Home: The Nick Caraway Story
"why are you awake at three in the morning" asks the person who is also awake at three in the morning
I force myself to look in the mirror when I cry
To see myself at my weakest
So I know how far I have come when I’m at my peak
Yet I think there’s a stigma against nadirs
We all have them
Yet I find myself anxiously brushing away the tears,
And watching through the peephole in the door for my roommate’s return
God forbid I cry.
God forbid I not be perfect.
Men can’t cry because it makes them seem weak.
Women can’t cry because then they get branded as overly emotional.
No one wants that.
Emotions? Leave them at home.
Feelings? No place here.
When did this unattainable perfection become the universally accepted standard?
Because I didn’t sign up for that.