You don’t know me.

I sit here, pen in shaking hand.
Paper beside cold naked feet.
My tears like rain and eye’s like sand.
Many soaked up but some inch out.

You watch those tears but don’t believe
Pretend they’re created from joy.
It’s evident these tears deceive.
For my fresh hidden scars do not.

The perfection you see in me
masks the unnoticed loneliness;
Just like makeup caked on acne,
to create quixotic beauty.

But I’m not perfect or pretty-
but more of a disappointment.
And though I act as if happy,
and always smile, You don’t know me.

You don’t know how often I cry
Or what I truly feel inside.
Or even all the verbal lies.
You love me, yet you don’t know me.

So I sit, pen in shaking hand,
Paper beside cold naked feet.
Silent tears, flow in silent strands
So one day you will know me.