A false joyous face I slip on,
when they ask how I'm faring,
carving cheer from sorrow's worn stone,
painting sunshine over the depths within.

Dragging myself from the bed each day
becomes a spell cast gone wrong,
I'm the worst of all mages,
unable to conjure the power to be strong.

This sadness, is my sole remaining vest,
my washed out laundry hangs outside in the rain,
I'd rather not burden others with my plight,
So, I try to disguise my pain.

Rather than let the cat out of my bag,
I laugh and say "I'm doing ok?”
Though the truth lies buried, out of sight.
Masking the dark road I face alone.

©️Lizzie Bevis