The Facade

She puts the effort in. Always
Makes it seem so… effortless
With no deterrents, just powering
On
And on
She likes the exotic and will try it
Now knowing the people not liked
The places she will not go again

An introverted extrovert by nature
Able to hide but is not shy
Experiences make her panic
She keeps going out. Sees friends
Saw family, made an effort to keep
The extroverted life in the open
Met a stranger, was introduced
And felt that odd butterfly from meeting
They were someone new.

It is her habit to be neurotic
Taking the time to agonize over
And over ridiculous things
She has a way of being disdainful always
She tells lies.
Constantly changing as a person
Events pass that have shaped
Have evolved her through her constant effort

Still her well worn smile is cancerous
It sucks you in (but it drains her)
To make you a part
Of how she follows the rules and has played
The roles. She knows her place too.

So you trust her. You always do
It must be something to do with
Her commitment and all her effort
She has to hide illogical crocodile
Tears with the real pain
With real anger won from her patience
Being tried, tested
Time! Time again

A leader of sorts
She leads the misled
Redirects and she guides
Still, she disagrees with
Unanimous agreeing
It is invalid; she finds it rude

Always the effort. She gets tired, yes
But the fatigue is ignored. She will always aim
For the stars to hit the lamp post not
The lamp post to hit the ground
It is why she tripped upstairs once
Reached the top another time and turned
To be praised again
Her face burnt like the devil
But it passed with a smile

It was a tiring night
When family failed to be pleased, her smile
That beautiful façade, was showing
Her efforts in strain
So much strain
She took a moment to close her eyes

Opens them again and watches this elder friend
Pick up and dust off her younger brother
And watch him, help him work
It makes him feel important and special
It makes her proud
She is glad to see Him in their
House and encourages the effort
Of them with her faltering smile

Because the effort of being herself!
Do you see how it is wearing her out?
Her mother died, her sister left, her brother
Still is picking himself up
There is a wedding to face, babies
To birth and tests, exams
EXPECTATIONS

She forgets the little things
Doesn’t know where her keys are
She laughs it off
Every time so she laughs a lot
Sometimes it is loud
And inappropriately timed

Focus. She says. And so she does.
But something has gone hazy.
There was a light in her eyes that you think
You saw. It went, gone with the nighttime.
The pressure must lighten.
Stop being her, stop wanting for her.

I May Not Understand It But It Will Always Be Real

I do not understand grief
I do not mind it
Or even care
It is not its own emotion
Just classifying
Those already there
And I do not understand Death
In her carriage of Eternity
Here she sits
Alone with me
And Immortality
The words she sits and speaks to me
Those I hear unsaid
I do not understand her grief
Or how Death cannot be dead

With Eyes Wide Shut They See Me

They don't see me. Ever.
I'm just in existence. I hold back their hair when they vomit. I distract their little brothers and sisters. I listen to them bitch about how much of an arsehole their boyfriends are. I let them cry. I let them crash at my place if they need to.
They don't see me. Ever.
And those that TRY to only see the strange person with the herbs and they don't know if I'm cursing or protecting. They only see the person who knows that paedophile is spelt with an ae and that the fear of books is called bibliophobia. They only see the strange person dancing naked because the moon is full. They only see someone who appears to be talking to herself. It isn't real. They just THINK they see.
They don't see me. Ever.
They don't see the person who knows something about everything, because that way she can help. They don't see the person who learns first aid because she let someone die. They don't see the scars on her arms. They don't see the scratches and the cuts. They don't see her crying in P.E or Math. Or English. Or Science. They don't see past her breasts. They don't see compassion. They don't see the smiles that are just in case they notice she's not ok. They don't notice the blood pouring out of the girls changing room.
They don't see me. Ever
But I can see them and I am always watching. Because there will be accidents. Someone will get hurt and I will be left to pick up the pieces. Even then, they will not see me. And even then, I will want to help them. Protect them from the harsh cruelty that is this. And still.
They don't see me. Ever.
The whole time I was writing this, I was praying that he would read it because I'm drowning and I don't mind so much. I gave up because of the way you looked at me when you saw what I'd done. I gave up because I couldn't stand your calmness and your eyes when I gave up on myself. You tried, but in the end, I couldn't pretend I was fixable. And you ended up like the rest of them. You stopped seeing me as I was and am. You were blind to my condition. That's ok, but it hurt when you ended up as a they.
They don't see me. Ever
Do you think that if I died they would see me as I was when I waited?
Because I don't. They won't see me, they won't see my tears or my blood or my eyes when I realise there is no point in waiting. There is no point in explaining. There is no point even, in this blog. Because, just as they don't see me, I expect them not to see this. And that is why the water is running red.
They did not see me. Ever.