At its heart, this poem is about beauty that hurts, masks that harden, and longing for someone to see past the performance and ask, are you okay, really?
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They call me joker but I know too much of grief to ever laugh freely,
my suit stitched from spectral threads of delight mixed with fear,
like carnival masks cracking under candlelight, revealing the raw pulp of sadness beneath.
I shuffle the deck with fingers that remember betrayal too well,
each card a shard of something I once trusted,
the queen who never stayed, the king who fell from grace,
the spade that cut through a promise I made to myself in a brighter room.
My smile is painted, yes, but it was carved first—
etched in dusk when magic turned cruel and the crowd cheered anyway,
their applause a song for the self I buried beneath velvet laughter and confetti sorrow.
There is a beauty in the spectacle,
in the whirl of orange fire and ace-shaped shadows,
but even beauty becomes an affliction when you’re the trick that no one unmasks,
the voice in the drumroll saying this is not real, but no one listens.
I dance in pinstripes while the world draws cards from my breath,
and each time I flip a heart, I bleed a little into the silence,
hoping someone, anyone, will fold before I vanish from the game.
About the Creator
Diane Foster
I’m a professional writer, proofreader, and all-round online entrepreneur, UK. I’m married to a rock star who had his long-awaited liver transplant in August 2025.
When not working, you’ll find me with a glass of wine, immersed in poetry.
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Comments (5)
Wonderful, Diane <3
Believe me, I folded long ago. Not even a pair of twos (or even threes should twos happen to be wild). Yeah, this one hits home.
Well-wrought! For my own part, I found my life improved when I started investigating what was in front of me instead of wanting to be asked about what was inside, but I understand it's not the same for everyone.
A great take on the prompt challenge, just sad that I can't take part with my main Vocal account. Thank you for subscribing to my backup account
This is such an epic tale inspired by cards. This line - "My smile is painted, yes, but it was carved first" is so incredible! You can feel the pain and ache and longing in this poem from the first line to the last.