The world sees the curve of my lips,
a crescent moon bright in the daylight,
but beneath that curve is a heaviness,
a quiet weight that no one can hold.
I’ve perfected the art of pretending,
like a dancer who moves without missing a step,
but with every step, the ground beneath me shifts,
and yet, I carry on.

There is a kind of peace in silence,
in letting the mask do all the talking.
How can they know? They only see the surface,
the shine, the ease, the practiced glow.
But underneath, I walk through fog,
thick and dense, where even my thoughts
cannot find their way through the haze.
I smile because it’s easier
than explaining the storm that rages inside.

Sometimes, I wish someone would notice,
just for a second, that the smile isn’t real,
that behind it lies a reservoir of unshed tears,
waiting to spill, waiting to be seen.
But they look at me and say,
“You’re always so happy, so strong,”
and I nod, because it’s what they want to hear,
and the truth, well, it’s not for sharing.

The sorrow doesn’t announce itself,
it doesn’t scream or demand attention.
It sits quietly in the background,
like a shadow that follows me everywhere,
never too close, never too far,
just there, lingering, waiting.
And so, I smile through it all,
through the nights when sleep escapes me,
through the days when everything feels distant,
because the mask is easier than letting go.

I’ve become an expert in the small talk,
the easy jokes, the casual gestures
that keep everyone at arm’s length.
They don’t need to know about the sorrow
that pulses beneath the surface,
they don’t need to see the cracks
in the facade I wear so well.
So I keep the conversation light,
keep the laughter flowing like water
over rocks that have been worn smooth by time.

But when...