### **When Smiles Hide Pain**
I move through my days like a quiet tide —
smiling when the world expects the sun,
hiding the storm that brews beneath calm waters.
People see the glow,
but not the flicker.
They hear my laughter,
but not the wind it carries through the hollow parts of me.
Inside, it’s never still.
My mind is an untamed forest —
memories rustling through the leaves,
regrets like shadows stretching with the dusk,
and *what ifs* that echo like thunder before the rain.
I’m not always sad.
There are mornings that feel soft again,
moments when sunlight reaches even the cold corners.
But still, something inside has quieted —
the part that once bloomed without fear,
that believed in people like spring believes in rain.
I wear my joy like petals in winter —
delicate, borrowed, brave.
I keep moving, even when my roots tremble.
And sometimes,
just for a breath,
I wish someone would *see*.
Not the practiced smile,
but the quiet ache beneath it.
Not the light —
but the flame that flickers, refusing to die.
I don’t want rescuing.
I don’t want pity.
I just want to be *seen.*
Truly seen —
by someone who knows that silence can roar,
and that even the brightest moon
has nights it hides behind clouds.
Because maybe,
being seen
is how we find our way back to the dawn.
---Even the moon hides behind clouds — but it never forgets how to shine.
** Gentle Reminder:**
Be kind — like rain to roots unseen.
Check on the ones who always shine;
sometimes their light is holding back the dark.
I move through my days like a quiet tide —
smiling when the world expects the sun,
hiding the storm that brews beneath calm waters.
People see the glow,
but not the flicker.
They hear my laughter,
but not the wind it carries through the hollow parts of me.
Inside, it’s never still.
My mind is an untamed forest —
memories rustling through the leaves,
regrets like shadows stretching with the dusk,
and *what ifs* that echo like thunder before the rain.
I’m not always sad.
There are mornings that feel soft again,
moments when sunlight reaches even the cold corners.
But still, something inside has quieted —
the part that once bloomed without fear,
that believed in people like spring believes in rain.
I wear my joy like petals in winter —
delicate, borrowed, brave.
I keep moving, even when my roots tremble.
And sometimes,
just for a breath,
I wish someone would *see*.
Not the practiced smile,
but the quiet ache beneath it.
Not the light —
but the flame that flickers, refusing to die.
I don’t want rescuing.
I don’t want pity.
I just want to be *seen.*
Truly seen —
by someone who knows that silence can roar,
and that even the brightest moon
has nights it hides behind clouds.
Because maybe,
being seen
is how we find our way back to the dawn.
---Even the moon hides behind clouds — but it never forgets how to shine.
** Gentle Reminder:**
Be kind — like rain to roots unseen.
Check on the ones who always shine;
sometimes their light is holding back the dark.
