I only smile when I lie
not because I want to deceive
but because the truth feels like gravel in my mouth
sharp, dry, impossible to swallow
I smile because it’s easier than explaining
why I haven’t slept in three days
or why I flinch when someone says
“you seem better.”
I smile when I say “I’m okay,”
even though my chest feels like it’s caving in
like someone forgot to build the beams right
like the air is too thick to breathe
but too thin to scream through
I smile when I say “I’m happy for you,”
even though something inside me
is clawing at the walls
begging to be seen
begging to be heard
begging to be anything but polite
I smile when I say “I forgive you,”
even though I still wake up
with your name stuck in my throat
like a splinter I can’t cough out
I smile when I say “I love you,”
even though I don’t know
what love is anymore
even though I think it might be
just another word people use
to make silence feel less empty
I smile because it’s what people expect
because it’s what I’ve trained my face to do
when my heart is folding in on itself
when my thoughts are too loud
to say out loud
I smile because the truth
is too raw
too ugly
too much
And I don’t know how to be
too much
without scaring everyone away