I smile to please them.
To make them think I'm fine. Content with this lifeless life I live.
It never lights my eyes.
They stay stone cold as I analyze their moves and become more aware of my own.
Just smile.
Pop a dimple.
Show those pretty straight teeth.
My eyes never glisten.
They never twinkle.
Never spark with the mischief they once held long ago.
Centuries- almost, so it feels.
But I don't tell them, though they glance at me curiously every once in a blue moon.
I continue with my facade.
The one I've grown into throughout the long, miserable days.
All with a smile.
That terrible, smile.
That fake, smile.
The smile that makes me undeniably me.
YOU ARE READING
In The Mind Of A Maker
PoetryOriginal, depressing, locked iPhone notes from yours truly.
