They think they know, they don’t.
They think I am what they see, I’m not.
They see me smile, so I must be happy.
I must be perfect huh?
No, they don’t even know what lies beneath.
Beneath every smile and laugh, is a tear and cry for help.
But they don’t see,
The real me.
I’m slipping, and I can’t hold on for much longer.
I’m ready to let go, but then they’ll all know.
How truly broken I am now.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted Flowers
PoetrySometimes you just need to write it down. Here are my thoughts.
