I wear my grin like porcelain—
polished, perfect,
cracked beneath.

They see the shine,
not the spiderwebs
that threaten to split me clean.

I laugh on cue,
walk the line,
but every step feels like a dare—
will I break,
or bend again?

No one notices the hairline fault.
They only see
a masterpiece
that never asked
to be displayed.

But here’s the twist
they’ll never know:
I dropped the real me
years ago.