From a Crow's Beak: Writing in Passing

All that I can show is a smile to save face.

I fear for my life. People see me and know I'm not human at first glance. I try so hard to fit in like them. But I'm weird and I don't understand how. I've been trying so hard to be human that I don't even know who or what I really am anymore. Everyone uses me and lies to me for the sake of their own twisted morality; but the instant I make a mistake I am hated. I am looked down upon. I'm perceived with a filter of disgust.

I indulge in my own emotions because no one else ever has. Does that make me selfish? I don't understand why it would, I'm giving myself what I've been told is required.

Who am I? Am I many within one? My wants and needs and interests are torn and spread so wildly that I feel like it's impossible to keep up. Am I faking it? Am I insane?

I am alone with my thoughts again. They shove sleep away, as if it's toxic to my body. That's not natural, is it? Humans are supposed to be able to sleep, right?

Maybe I should cry.
No...
Yes?
Humans cry.
Do I need to cry? Don't humans have reasons to cry?
I want to. Not because I am sad, though I am, I think.
Crying makes my body tired. If I force my body into a state of exhaustion, maybe my thoughts will go quiet.

I don't want to wake up.