Everyone loves to see my smile
so big, beautiful, infectious
magnetic and genuine
but the world can only see
all that I pretend to be.
It seems we all get caught up
in appearances, distanced from reality.
The real me is always an arms-length away.
And I like it that way.
I keep it that way.
Keeping you farther and farther
from my pain before I implode
with no more warning than my trembling lips and fingertips signing for help while they push you away,
crying for comfort but begging for space.
I fret you won’t understand
this brokenness as I lie in a broken mess
of tears and bleeding wrists inflicted from a sharp tongue,
and sharper voices in my mind cutting deeper into the wells of insecurity.
My own hands dig deeper into flesh searching my veins for happiness.