Good Job

I remember the first time someone told me I had sad eyes. I thought I knew myself before that but I know I didn’t know myself after that. It was a subtle public trial, and I quietly left before the world witnessed the tears I’d been holding back for years.
I didn’t know I was sad, but someone else that knew me said so, so it was true, and it lives like that, through regular reminders I forget to remember to feel. So I’m a sad person now, and sometimes a stranger points it out for me and I can roam restless under my breath in aggravated acceptance.
Sometimes I want them to acknowledge the weight in my eyes so I know I’m doing a good job and I can go home and listen to my favorite songs so I remember to act right.