I wear a smile like borrowed skin, but underneath I cave within, a haunted house with hollow halls, where love just echoes off the walls.
I laugh on cue, I play my part, but fear runs rampant through my heart, each kindness offered feels unearned - like warmth misplaced, or bridges burned.
You say I'm good, you say I'm strong, but I have felt so wrong, so long, these hands have trembled through the years, have held regret, have held back tears.
If love is light, then I am dusk - a fading shape, a shell of trust, you reach for me like I'm still whole, but can't you feel the missing soul?
I see the way your eyes go soft, like love is easy, like I'm not lost, and every word you give so true, I twist and turn, then doubt it too.
I don't know why you even try - what part of me could qualify for tenderness you freely give, to someone still too scared to live?
You speak of stars, of second chances, of finding peace in broken stances, but I've been shattered far too wide, I've learned to keep the hurt inside.
My past is not a tale I share - it sit like smoke in stagnant air, and every flaw I try to hide still stains the walls I build inside.
I walk through life with quiet dread, with battles raging in my head, and though you hold my trembling hand, I still don't think you understand.
I'm not the one in fairytales, I'm not the heart that never fails, I'm worn, I'm bruised, I'm far from new, I don't know why you love me too.
Each time you say you care, I flinch - my heart pulls back inch after inch, because deep down I still believe that love is something I can't receive.
I've practiced silence, shame, and doubt, built walls too thick to figure out, I've learned to wait for things to end, even love that tries to bend.
So if you leave, I won't ask why, I'll just let go, I'll just comply, you deserve someone sure and strong, not someone who feels always wrong.
But if you stay, despite it all - the distant stare, the frightened call, then maybe, slowly, I could learn that even ruins still can burn.
And maybe love's not earned or owed, but something given just to hold, still, I confess, I don't yet see what makes you think there's good in me.
So here I stand, unsure, afraid, a heart unstitched, a life mislaid, but if you love this shattered frame, perhaps there's more than just the shame.
And though I doubt, and though I break, if you still stay for my own sake, then maybe I could start to be a little less unworthy - a little more... just me.