"She's smiling all the time, she's obviously fine,"
They say, as if the curve of my lips tells the truth,
as if the brightness of my eyes isn't a practiced illusion.
"Are you okay?" they ask, a passing question,
and I nod, painting my reply in cheerful hues.
"I'm fine," I say brightly, the words slipping out
like well-rehearsed lines in a play no one sees through.
But am I really fine?
The weight of the world clings to me, heavy and silent,
unseen beneath the surface of my everyday mask.
I guess I'm just tired all the time,
not from the hours spent awake, but from the weight
of pretending, of carrying this quiet storm,
waiting for someone to notice the cracks
in my carefully painted smile.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
