The life I'm given

I lie. A lot. And I'm actually pretty good at it. My parents beleive me. My friends do. But some of them don't. They've heard how much I've lied, and they aren't beleiving me anytime soon. Even if I tell the truth, they don't beleive it. Why do I lie?? Maybe it's to get over the fact that my existence in this world is so miniscule compared to everyone else's. People say, when they look at the sky, their problems appear less troublesome, as they look at the celestial bodies around them suffering the same problems they do. But when I look up, I just see a mass of white puffs staring me down; tampering with my mind and making me beleive that my problems aren't what they seem to be. Other times, the white puff splatters on the ground next to me while the cries of seagulls pierce the silence. And then I realize that the puffs aren't what they seem to be. Out of all the lives in our so-called 'free' country, why does mine seem to stand out as one of the more uninteresting ones. Questions come to me all the time, but so few are answered.