BPhoenix Poetry

But in reality it may be
the hardest mask to come about:
a smile...
The one which covers up all
which lies rumbling underneath:
The anger, the sorrow, the stingy
sarcasm,
the unbearable neverending pain.

By now I know how to wear it well:
Nonchalantly, on various occassions,
allways ready to flash around
a crowded room,
an innocent suitor
a well intended friend...

But I know how my face suffers
the exhaustion, the effort
to appear intact,
while beneath all those stripping teeth
I fall apart.

When I'm back on my own
and I dare gaze at the mirror,
I wonder how do I manage to be
such a fraud,
to hide the terror
and the disgust and the boredom,
and fool them till the last of them all.

My face gets tired, my cheeks hurt,
my lips are strained and my eyes
wrinkled with traces of deceit.