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 I’m alone, when the world is quiet,
the sorrow comes to sit with me,
and we share the silence like old friends.
It doesn’t ask for much, just acknowledgment,
just a moment to exist without the mask,
and I give it that,
because even sorrow needs to be seen.
I let it wrap itself around me,
a cloak I wear in the darkness
when no one is looking,
and for a moment, I am free.

There is a strange comfort in sorrow,
a kind of familiarity that grows with time.
It becomes part of you,
woven into the fabric of your being,
so that even when you smile,
it is there, just beneath the surface.
I’ve learned to live with it,
to let it coexist with the joy,
because life is not one or the other,
but a delicate balance of both.

Some days, the sorrow feels heavier,
like a stone that presses down on my chest,
and the smile is harder to find.
But I wear it anyway,
because the world doesn’t stop for sadness,
and the people I meet don’t want to see
the weight I carry.
So I smile, and they smile back,
and the moment passes like all the others,
unremarkable, unnoticed.

I wonder sometimes if anyone else
feels this way, if behind their own smiles
there is a similar sorrow,
a quiet ache that they carry in silence.
Perhaps we are all walking around
with hidden burdens,
pretending we are fine
because that’s what we’ve been taught to do.
And so, we move through the world
with our masks firmly in place,
smiling at one another,
never truly seeing the sorrow
that lies just beneath.

But there are moments, rare and fleeting,
when the mask slips,
and someone catches a glimpse of the truth.
They don’t say anything,
but their eyes linger a little longer,
as if they see something familiar,
something they’ve known all along.
In those moments, the sorrow feels less heavy,
as if it has been shared,
if only for a second,
and the smile becomes a little more real.

Still, the sorrow remains,
a constant companion,
but I have learned to live with it,
to let it be without letting it consume me.
It is part of me now,
woven into the fabric of my life,
and though it is heavy,
it is not all there is.
The smile is real, too,
even if it is sometimes tinged with sadness,
because joy and sorrow
are not opposites,
but companions on this journey we call life.

And so, I will continue to smile,
to let the world see what it wants to see,
while holding my sorrow close,
a quiet truth that I carry within.
For behind every smile,
there is a story,
and behind mine,
there is a sorrow
that will not fade,
but that will not break me either.
I am more than the smile I wear,
and more than the sorrow I carry,
and in that,
there is strength.