I dream of waking to soft mornings,
In a home close to the mountains,
Where I can hold my babies,
And care for them with gentle hands,
Living a quiet life,
Far from the rush of the world.

I picture the days slow and simple,
Filling the space with love,
Nurturing them, being their world,
Finding peace in their laughter,
And the stillness of the mountains around me.

But somewhere along the way,
I feel like God has a different plan,
One that doesn’t let me stay still,
One that pushes me forward,
Telling me I’m meant for more.

Maybe it’s better, maybe it’s bigger,
But it doesn’t feel easy,
It feels like a kind of punishment,
Taking me away from what I wanted,
To something I never expected.

I know God’s plan is meant to be good,
But right now, it’s hard to see,
Because all I wanted was simplicity,
To stay home, to love, to rest.

But maybe there’s something else I need to give,
Something beyond the quiet I crave,
Something that will stretch me,
Even if it hurts.

She smiles because she's your go-to child
The one that gets all the praise
The one who accepts all your rage
Even as she's growing
You won't ever know it
Because hormones are bad
And mood-swings won't ever be had
Even though she hates it
She smiles as she fakes it
Her facade or innocence
Is quite actually painfully brilliant
She has everyone around her finger
Though the tightness of it always stings her
She smiles as she's called sweet
Kind and lovely
Smart and hardworking
Honest and trustworthy
Strong and preserving
Beautiful and genuine
Because she's not she's
Mean and unlikeable
Dumb and lazy
A liar and unhonest
Ugly and fake
But somehow no one sees
Her broken and horrid self
Through her sickly sweet
Kind and innocent
Full of joy and love
Fake facade

An eclipse right at noon,  
Daylight faded in swift.  
The whirl of life, haphazardly, spun—  
The night came before the shade could lift.  

He picked a mask he liked;  
Never did he take it off.  
Blood changed, adrenaline spiked—  
By a stranger, he himself was kicked off.  

This stranger lived with a new face;  
Some were disturbed by his change.  
In every test, he'd ace—  
A lock one would never hinge.  

He exists still, but not there;  
Doesn't care about the world.  
Yet thinks himself to be fair,  
A repeated mistake too old.  

And he shall know  
Of the mishaps he conceived.  
The melancholic days—a fierce blow;  
In no respect was he healed.  

That, he knew too, very clear;  
His soul had long been tainted to care.  
When asked for "the real you"—a sharp spear  
On masks of previous spin, could he stare.  

One day, a new air—  
This stranger was then caught.  
He sought an urge he couldn't bear,  
Struck by the truthful Failnaught.

every night before i go to bed,
i craft my mask
for my upcoming performance of course!
perfectly powdered cheeks, flawless.
lashes curled, a rosy smile-
always a smile.
Silent, Unseen,
always a smile.

in the cold, dark glass,
i look at myself in the mirror's depths.
the real me.
i see a twisted, gnarled mess.
a frown, eyes brimming with distress.
torn apart by her cruel mind.

how i wish the mask would set in,
so i wouldn't have to prepare this facade,
every.
single.
day.

I'm tired.

What if,
I don't have the will to craft the mask tonight?
What if I simply indulge in slumber's gentle light?
Without the weight of the mask upon my sight?

no.

they won't accept me.
and i cannot bear their disdain you see,
and so,
the everlasting performance, it must be.

I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.

“Thanks for asking, but 𝑰
am fine, just a little tired.
𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 complain, you know?
Everybody gets a bit
stressed sometimes, what with
all that we’ve got to 𝒅𝒐.
It’s not like 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 is any different
than any other day, any other person.
𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 somewhere has it far
worse than I do, so don’t feel sorry
for me. No, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 your compassion
for a person who really needs it, not
𝒎𝒆.”