I know how to lie,
to hide,
to make believe that everything is just fine.
A fresh coat of paint to hide the termite infested foundation.
A new roof so no one can see the shake of the walls.
A new door with a new mat that says welcome.
But no one is truly welcome inside.
I learned how to smile, but I can't force it to reach my eyes.
I learned how to add a cheer to my voice that covers the obvious lie.
I learned how to pretend that everything is just fine.
But nothing is fine.
I am not fine.
No one cares unless you are on the roof.
And no one believes you without the scars.
No one expects a real answer when they ask how you are doing,
because no one cares until you are on the news.
They didn't text you while you were alive but they cried at your funeral.
And they didn't listen when you vented but they will sit at the reading of the will.
They will pray for you when you lose your job but they offer no actual support.
They won't text you on your birthday but they will accept a party favor.
And no one cares until you are dead.