“Your smile is so beautiful,” they say —
but little do they know,
half of my face is paralyzed.

one side, playing the great pretender
the other,
basking in my sadness,
trying to heal the ache —
one side smiles, the other weeps,
tears running down
my freshly made clothes —
now sagging in my tears.

Do I really deserve skin
if I’m not comfortable in it?
Do I deserve a mouth,
if I can’t sing a sad melody
out into the world,
with the window open,
painting a scene,
spilling my mind on pavement
for anyone that stops
and cares to listen.

everyone still laughing, still smiling;
they walk past my cracks,
blind to the dark picture
I’m trying to open their eyes to.

half frozen,
half dead,
reaching —
for empathy.

the air picks up,
pushes me back from the window;
it shuts, sudden, cold.
I am lost, cut out —
again.

with my body barely able to move,
I reach for poetry,
hoping I can still write
when my voice feels thin,
my fingers trembling, half-paralyzed —
hoping it can set me free.