The Painted Smile
There is a quiet performance we play every day, where the smile is painted on and the laughter is just loud enough to drown out the sound of a heart breaking. It is a strange, hollow skill to be the sunshine in everyone else’s room while your own world is slowly turning to gray. We learn to let go in the dark, in the quiet minutes between the social scenes, perfecting the art of "fine" until we almost believe it ourselves.
The Painted Smile
I wear the morning like a golden mask,
And answer "fine" to every soul that asks.
I spin through hours with a steady grace,
With not a single crack upon my face.
The happy-go-lucky girl is back again,
A bright distraction from the hidden rain.
I tell the jokes, I lead the easy dance,
And leave my heavy secrets up to chance.
But deep beneath the surface of the show,
I’m learning all the ways of letting go.
I’m untying knots that I have held for years,
And washing out the salt of ancient fears.
It’s lonely work, this private, quiet death,
To lose a world with every shallow breath.
While they see light and hear a joyful tune,
I’m watching pieces crumble in my room.
So I’ll be bright, I’ll be the summer sun,
Until the long, exhausting day is done.
And when the curtain falls, I’ll find the peace,
Of letting go until the shadows cease.
The world doesn't always need to see the struggle for the healing to be real. Sometimes, the mask we wear is a shield that allows us to mend in private, away from the questions we aren't ready to answer. I am learning that I can be both the woman who laughs and the woman who is grieving—that my outward joy doesn't make my internal letting go any less brave. One day, the smile won't be a performance; it will be the truth.
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