The Smile I Borrow

They say I smile
a lot.

But no one asks
why it never reaches
my eyes.

It’s not mine.
It’s borrowed.

Like clothes
I never chose
but wear anyway.

It fits the world
better than silence.

So I wear it.
Every morning.

Pull it tight
like armor.
Paint it bright
like it means something.

But inside,
I’m empty.

Not broken
just drained.

Like I gave
everything
to everyone
and kept
nothing
for myself.

I laugh
when they laugh.
Not because I feel it
but because I’m expected to.

Happiness,
for me,
is theater.

The audience claps.
I bow.
Then hide behind
the curtain
no one sees.

Where I’m just me.
And even that
feels like too much.

So I smile.
Again.

Because pretending
hurts less
than explaining.

Because silence
is safer
than truth.

Because if they knew
how I really felt
they might leave.

And I don’t want
to be alone.

Even though
I already am.