Two-Faced

There is always more to the story.

I know how it goes,

no one really cares;

it’s just another teenage

sob story in hand.

 

But nightly, I clutch my wrist

simply screaming,

and crying, and cursing

the fact that I live.

 

And I know it is hard,

but I’ll put it off,

I’ll hide all my pain

with a shrug and a scoff.

 

But during the day,

when I put on a smile,

I’m hiding my true feelings,

and it feels so wrong.

Yes, I know what they say,

they insist all life is hurt

but what they don’t see

is how bad it really burns.