no
i will not fake a smile
no
i don't want to come
no
i'm not okay

yes, every fibre of my body, every ounce of my blood aches
yes, i opened my shell only to have the pearl stepped on
yes, i have feelings, real ones, and no- i'm not afraid of them...anymore

yes-i want to run away, go on my boat, float into the sunset, but i am stuck, no- can't go far, the sails are missing, gone, torn, stolen, tattered, beaten, dead.

no-it's not fair, nothing is, and likely won't be, yes- i hate that, yes- i wish it weren't so, but it is, and i can cry a river, but my boat still won't sail,  not far enough

no- i won't use an ore, i don't want a motor, and i refuse to call for help, yes- i like being stuck here, with no sails, no-movement, just afloat, in shallow tears, for as long as it takes

yes- my boat could sink, and yes- what a shame, but no- i don't care, i can't, it's too late

yes- the path is the right one, the captain is steering correctly, but no- the weather conditions are wrong; rain, wind, snow, ice, the boat can't compete against evil forces of nature

alas i've lost count of the yes' because that's just how it goes.
instead i'm stuck in the dead end waters of no, no, no, surprisingly though i know i don't belong, i like it, because like a painful bruise, it feels good to apply pressure where it hurts, to make sure i'm alive. i am alive arn't i? yes? no?

maybe

enough

Trying to please Attempting to appease
Faking a smile
Going the extra mile

But none of it brings me that which I long,
Nor does it save the world.
So what's the point? Why pretend?

While some feign caring,
I'm forced to grin and bare,
But why keep up the charade when everyone knows there will be no winner?
There is no triumph in the superficial Olympics
No golden trophy to be won. 
Just losers, a lot of them,
some lamer than others but nonetheless insignificant.

Who decides when enough's enough?
What's appropriate? WHY DO I CARE?
Where to draw the line?
It's never been up to me, I've always been a mere puppet.

But I'm going to cut the strings,
All of them,
One by one.
Because that which made me happy is beyond the reach of these strings,
And if I don't cut them off now,
I'll always be just part of a puppet show.

Tragic