They love you.

They want you.

They can’t help but be drawn

To the image and not the man

They shout your name …

And you hear them,

But in your heart

You wish for something more.

What these cries can’t give you …

The adoration falls flat.

You wish you knew what was missing,

Maybe somehow you can get it back.

Lights surround you …

Duty calls yet again.

You know that all of this won’t last for long,

But for now it’s nice to pretend

That everyone loves you

And everyone wants you

And that you’re okay with that …

But it always leaves you empty.

That can’t give you

What you’re grasping for in the darkness.

They can’t give you

The piece to fill the hole.

It’s for the best that they can’t see

How pathetic you’ve turned out to be.

It’s for the best that they can’t see

How alone you really are.

You put on the show for the millionth time.

So tired of your part, so tired of the façade.

When it’s finally over, perhaps when the fantasy is done …

Maybe even men like you can find their happiness.

Okay. This is my style. I'm aware that there are some parts of this that rhyme and that most of it doesn't. It was meant to be that way. Also, I've been getting complaints about some of the stanzas in my other poems being too short. It was done purposely. I don't write textbook poetry people. Not all poetry has to rhyme and follow certain guidelines. It's art. Or maybe that's just my opinion.