I can paint a pretty picture,
A cute brick house and endless bliss.
Bright green grass and lifting giggles,
Dark purple lilies brought up from summer sun.

I can't draw what's inside,
Letting those outside know too much.

The baby cries softly in the night,
Away from a mother who shouldn't be.

The boys are tucked neatly in their beds,
Quietly but making frequent stirs.
Dreams of being closer to their dad,
One dead, the other self-absorbed.

The mother lays asleep and prays,
Alone, begging for extra strength.
She tries her best and does that,
But tears fall under the pressure of her denying.

Behind the closed and locked door,
A crippled teen no longer cries.
You may not see it in her eyes,
But the tears are always running dry.

Dig deep at the families smiles,
You might just see it all.
We're all like a piece of art,
Leaving others to wonder what's really there.