What You Don’t See Behind The Smile

You see a smile-sharp, clean, bright,
But not the war I fight at night.
You see me laugh, you see me glow,
But not the ache I never show.

You see the girl who plays along,
Who’s always kind, who seems so strong.
But you don’t see the bathroom floor,
Or how I don’t feel me anymore.

You don’t see meals I push away,
Or how I lie, “I ate today.”
You don’t see mirrors turned to shame,
Or how I flinch at my own name.

You don’t see scars beneath my skin,
Where fire kissed to quiet the sin.
You don’t see hands that shake with fear,
Or hear the thoughts I cannot clear.

You see a friend who’s always there,
But not the weight I always wear.
You see me listen, hold your pain-
But not the nights I go insane.

You don’t see tears I never cry,
The broken “why”s I keep inside.
You don’t see how I scream in dreams,
Or split apart at all the seams.

You see a life that looks well-kept,
But not the secrets I’ve learned to except.
Not the ghosts that haunt my breath,
The quiet flirt I have with death.

You don’t see that I’m just tired-
Not the kind that sleep’s required.
But the kind where hope is thin,
And smiling feels like wearing skin.

So if you ask and I just say “fine,”
Know that it’s a practiced line.
There’s more beneath, and it runs deep
But I’ve learned to bury what I can’t keep

-K