Still Smiling

They are kind to people.

They always have been.

They’re kind because they know.

What it feels like not to know kindness.

 

They’re there for people,

because they know what it feels like

to have no one,

to be surrounded and still alone.

 

They’re reliable for people,

because they know what it feels like

to never have stability,

never knowing who stays

and who doesn’t.

 

They’re patient with people,

because patience wasn’t given to them,

It had to be learned

in places no one noticed.

 

They’re the happy person.

 

They smile all the time,

look put together,

makeup on,

hair done,

smile ready.

 

But no one sees what it costs.

 

They smile so no one asks.

So no one looks too long.

So no one notices

That's never true.

 

They look put together.

So no one sees the fight.

It takes just to exist in their own skin.

 

In front of the mirror,

They search for something

that feels like it belongs to them—

and don’t always find it.

 

They cover the tiredness,

the eye bags from nights that don’t end properly,

from thoughts that don’t quite come down

when everything else does.

 

Voices that repeat:

“Be happy.”

“Smile.”

“Be normal.”

“Be perfect.”

 

Until morning comes

And they pretend none of it stayed.

 

Most days, life moves

and they move with it.

 

They talk.

They laugh.

They sit with people.

 

And for a while,

It almost feels fine.

 

Not good.

Not bad.

Just enough to keep going,

Without thinking about staying too much.

 

But then something shifts.

 

A smile that slips.

A laugh that feels delayed.

A pause that lasts too long.

 

Small things no one names,

But they feel everything.

 

A part of them hopes no one notices.

The cracks in the rhythm.

How they carry the world heavier.

 

Because saying it out loud

would make it real.

And real is harder to carry

than hidden ever was.

 

Another part of them hopes someone does,

not to fix it,

just to see it.

The exhaustion that doesn’t leave.

The effort it takes

to look okay,

When they are anything but.

 

So they keep going.

 

They smile.

They nod.

They respond at the right times.

 

And it works.

 

No one pauses.

No one questions it.

 

Because they look fine.

 

They’ve always looked fine.

 

And “fine” becomes something automatic,

a version of them

They don’t switch off anymore.

 

Because if you look fine,

People stop asking.

 

Even when days feel heavy.

Even when being here feels heavier.

Even when everything feels like too much

and nothing feels like enough.

 

They still smile.

Still functions.

Still show up.

 

Because stopping would mean explaining.

 

And explaining means being seen.

Fully.

 

So it builds quietly instead.

 

Not in moments that break

Not in noise.

But in small, unnoticed moments.

 

A smile slightly off.

A silence no one fills.

A life that looks normal

from every distance that isn’t too close.

 

They’ve been the “happy one” for so long

It starts to feel like a role

more than a truth.

 

And that’s what hurts most.

 

Because if it was never fully real,

Then who were they

before it became them?

 

So they keep it.

 

They stay kind.

They stay there.

They stay “okay.”

 

Because they know

That the people who always smile,

are often hiding,

The greatest pain.

 

And they know,

That eventually,

That pain will become too much,

And that if it does,

They will still smile anyway