They only see the version  
that didn’t scream.  
The one who smiled  
because silence had sharper teeth.

Behind this grin:  
razorwire laughter,  
polished to deflect inquiry.  
A thousand masks  
stitched from survival.

I learned to dance  
in venom shoes—  
every step a negotiation  
with ghosts no one else sensed.

It’s not deception.  
It’s preservation.  
A camouflage of grace  
in a world that punishes visible pain.

But under this costume,  
the truth foams at the seams.  
Grief behind gloss.  
Fury in a silk-lined sigh.

This is the masquerade  
you demanded I wear.  
But I warn you—  
the fabric’s unraveling.

And when it falls,  
don’t flinch at the fangs.  
They were always there.  
You just didn’t want to look.