She’s hurting. No one can tell.
She hides it very naturally.
Makeup, hair, and clothes all in place.
Clothes that catches people’s eyes, puts a thought in heads.
“She's happy, she has everything or she must live a pretty great life”
She walks with her high, ready to greet people when needed.
Never a long conversation, just a short and sweet one to leave a good impression.
Walks down the street confidently; someone hollers at her… no turn of her.
Helps the old lady across the street.
Grabs a cup of coffee before going home.
But when the door shuts, she shuts down.
Everything you saw of her is now put away ready for the next day.
The real her is behind the door.
Real pain, sorrow digging deep inside of her.
Sinking deep into her bath soaking in the day.
No extraordinary day; just a repeat like a skip in an old record player.
Feels as if nothing will ever change.
Something is growing inside of her… anger.
Anger that is coming to the surface telling her something.
She turns off the water and cries.
The level of the water goes up from all the tears running down her face.
“Whats a girl like her crying for, she has everything”
Sooner or later she’s floating with all her tears, pain and sorrow.
Sooner or later no one will see that girl who walks confidently down the streets.
Smile plastered on her face with a welcoming hand.
Soon you’ll see head lines of who you always thought was happy.
But was dying inside.