That hide hurt, despair, depression,
We walk around with.
We laugh, but the laughter doesn’t reach our eyes.
Our hearts hurt,
But we don’t want to break down,
We don’t want to have to tell our stories,
Because the telling of it,
Makes it more tangible,
Makes the losses, the pain, more real.
We hide behind polite masks,
That are illusions,
Of what’s going on inside.
For if we show it,
Show the madness that’s inside,the despair
Some will rejoice at our downfall,
Others will use it to feed the rumourmill
Or usurp our power,
Because we are at our weakest point.
So we pretend that everything is good,
Yet little by little we die inside,
With big smiles plastered on our faces.