Deceit (n): the act or practice of deceiving; concealment or distortion of; duplicity; fraud.
When I wake up in the morning, I'm sure to put deceit on. First, I apply the straight-face. This covers up all the $&!% I've been through. Then, I put on the bright eyes. How? Well, I wipe away the tears, wait for the puffy-ness to fade away, and there you have it. And last of all, I put on a smile. On some days, I put in the extra effort and even laugh.
Underneath all this paint is a life full of sorrow-or at least sorrow is the only aspect that requires me to paint. The thing is, all those that surround me never ever see my unpainted face. All they see is happiness, laughter, bliss. But it's all but those. They'll never see, unless I choose to show them of course. But in the mean time, they'll never see, and they'll never know.
They'll never know that there are mornings when I come back from class, stand in the balcony, and just cry. They'll never know that sometimes I weep quietly in the shower when the beating of the water against my naked body drowns out the noise. They'll never know that when I quietly slip into my bed at night, I stare above me, wondering what life would be like if "the incident" never happened-would he have been proud of me? They'll never know of the nights when I drive home late, park my car, and sit in it for hours-allowing the emotions to flush out of my body for that one night as I breathe in the scent of him left over from his '94 Camry. They'll never know any of this.
Do I ever wish they knew? Of course. I've always longed for someone to see me in these moments, swoop me up in their arms, and comfort me. I've always longed for someone to budge in, interrupt my tears, and be patient enough for me to lay down my story for them to hear. I've always longed for someone to see me in my worst emotions but still be a pal when I'm my usual self again-not allowing others to know that they saw me like that. Of course I wish that someone knew. Who wants to be lonely when you're depressingly crying? No one. I don't.
But the problem is I don't want people to see me cry. I don't want to look weak, fragile, tender. It's my ego. Yet, I want someone to be there. I want someone to comfort me. It's complicated. But for now, no one will see me, no one will know. For now, I'll just paint myself with the color of deceit.
Underneath all this paint is a life full of sorrow-or at least sorrow is the only aspect that requires me to paint. The thing is, all those that surround me never ever see my unpainted face. All they see is happiness, laughter, bliss. But it's all but those. They'll never see, unless I choose to show them of course. But in the mean time, they'll never see, and they'll never know.
They'll never know that there are mornings when I come back from class, stand in the balcony, and just cry. They'll never know that sometimes I weep quietly in the shower when the beating of the water against my naked body drowns out the noise. They'll never know that when I quietly slip into my bed at night, I stare above me, wondering what life would be like if "the incident" never happened-would he have been proud of me? They'll never know of the nights when I drive home late, park my car, and sit in it for hours-allowing the emotions to flush out of my body for that one night as I breathe in the scent of him left over from his '94 Camry. They'll never know any of this.
Do I ever wish they knew? Of course. I've always longed for someone to see me in these moments, swoop me up in their arms, and comfort me. I've always longed for someone to budge in, interrupt my tears, and be patient enough for me to lay down my story for them to hear. I've always longed for someone to see me in my worst emotions but still be a pal when I'm my usual self again-not allowing others to know that they saw me like that. Of course I wish that someone knew. Who wants to be lonely when you're depressingly crying? No one. I don't.
But the problem is I don't want people to see me cry. I don't want to look weak, fragile, tender. It's my ego. Yet, I want someone to be there. I want someone to comfort me. It's complicated. But for now, no one will see me, no one will know. For now, I'll just paint myself with the color of deceit.
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