Black fingertips,
and a white palm.
A stiff essence,
an aura of calm.
A wet brush,
a canvas body.
Paint in every angle,
making sure to not be faulty
in the covering.
Pain is camouflaged
in black and white.
Disguising hurt
and putting up a fight.
Concealed emotions,
and drawn indifference.
Sketching a smile,
bringing consistence.
An art project,
of white and black.
It always takes ages,
to paint a perfect mask.
Black and white.
Is used to blend in.
hiding the turmoil
swirling within.
But nobody notices all the cracks
in the facade.
They simply believe
in the grain masquerade.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
