You seem perfect. Like you have no problems
Your eyes. Hair. Smile
But i know you. I know how much your problems affect you.

I know that those bags under
your beautiful blue eyes aren’t because
you’re “tired” but the fact that your parents were fighting
over how much your father drinks.

I know you’re hair is a mess
not because you’re trying to be cool but
you didn’t have time to fix it while trying
to get your siblings ready.

I know the smile you put on in the mornings
isn’t your real one, you’re real one
would light up this town
but you put on a facade because you don’t want
to be seen as weak, you don’t want others pity