I can't smile anymore,
the smile that comes from inside.
Yet my mouth is always
a crescent moon,
shaping,
making others believe I am happy.
This is a self-made delusion,
a mask I wear with practiced ease.

Inside, the echoes of laughter
have long since faded,
replaced by the silence of longing,
the weight of unseen tears.
But my lips curve upward,
a charade of joy,
a façade of light,
while shadows dance within.

I paint on this smile,
a brushstroke of deceit,
hoping the world won't see
the cracks in my armor,
the fractures in my soul.
They see the crescent,
the sliver of light,
and they think I am whole,
unaware of the darkness
that fills the rest.

It's a self-made delusion,
this act of pretense,
a way to shield,
to hide the truth
that my heart has forgotten
how to genuinely smile.
Each day, I sculpt this crescent,
a moon that never waxes full,
a reminder of the joy that once was,
now a distant memory.

I wish I could let it go,
this crescent moon façade,
to let the world see
the storm within,
the struggle behind the mask.
But for now,
I wear my delusion,
a smile that deceives,
a crescent moon
in a sky of sorrow,
hoping one day,
the light will return,
and my smile will be real again.