she calms her voice so that no one hears, about what she feels at night, how are you? they always ask. they always ask that same question. and her answer will be strong. and it will never change. i’m good, how about you? it’s a lie, isn’t it? again, she lies. the wonder inside her head, those cities that she built, those bakeries that she loved, those beds that she slept in; they all burn away with her midnight cigs. they do. little by little, you’ll get to know her. the abuse handed to you as an excuse that you might need this in your life. you don’t. no one does. so she says, i’ll always be fine. even if the cookie crumbles and the lady still sings. she will never let you see her tremble. she will never let you see her cry. she will never let you see her true self. who she really was and how terrified this world has made her. and she could be you, you or you. but some nights; she looks like the moon, and some mornings she grows ten times the size like the sun, and she may be your favorite sunrise or your adored sunset, and you’ll be there for her, you’ll be her friend. you’ll watch her breaking, but never noticing it. how could you? she hid the best under the stars because sometimes people don’t need light or an aura to truly shine.
and sometimes all she has is darkness, even if she’s surrounded by happy people. and that’s the cruelest part about being you. // k.c. (via poetryleftbyher)
