She laughs, seemingly carefree,
but the endless worries pick at her from the inside.
Many say that she is perfect
But none see the storm in her mind.
"She's so smart."
"So pretty."
"So athletic."
"So carefree."
"So talented."
But none see the quiet torture
that shaped the girl they call perfect.
"I wish I were like her."
But she wishes she were like you,
wanting everything,
instead of having to be everything.
The undermining pressure eats at her daily,
clawing its way up until it eats her whole.
Lingering dark thoughts stab at her constantly,
But the fake happiness overtakes her when the sun arises.
Many see her as cheerful,
mistaking practised laughter for joy.
No one sees the effort that she puts in,
constantly placing her on a pedestal,
worshipping perfection
as though she were untouchable.
But she, too, is human
thinks human,
and acts human,
a human,
just waiting to be understood.