Inspired by Elizabeth Bishops “Strayed Crap”

This is not my life. How did it become so bleak?
I feel so worn.
I am feeble and terror stricken. The inside of my powerful mentality
is a centrifuge of turbid thoughts. See, do you see now; I bury it like a treasure.
I am instinctive and rooted; I create with great precision, cleverly managing all of my duties. I believe in accepting circumstances, so I keep my feelings to myself.
But in this strange, demoralized world
I am making too much noise. I wasn't meant for this. If step delicately and keep to myself, I will find my path again.
I inspect each phrase I deliver. This place is too arduous. The storm has pacified to a mist,
but still not enough to please me.
My ideas are good, though small; my psyche is tough and tight.
In my life are many friends. I see them. Only my laugh is transparent, and they grimace at me.
It's troublesome to catch this intricate detail but they catch it quickly in their sights and seek to lend their optimism. What is this cosmos, like an ebony cloud of smoke, stifling and scorching? What is it doing?
It thrusts us back, daunting us. It's constantly adjoined  to me, pretending its not. I'll skirt it.
It's underlying beneath my smiles. Out of my head, obsidian conscious.
I govern my perception, all the logic within it, and every skittering thought that abysmally hazes my mind.
Cheer up! I forge a smile on my face, encouragingly, so that you will never know.
I don't wish for you to perceive it. Conceptualized, all in your mind rendering you defenseless.
I could terminate the monstrosity but in doing so would terminate myself. 
You glace and impulsively look away, a watchdog; but you couldn't comprehend me on your best day.
I do not care much for this humdrum. I admire the intriguing, the offbeat, and the metamorphosis, all so rare in this pigheaded world.