Life

Pretty and perfect and smooth as you can see
That’s how my life is turning out to be
But what happens when the pretty is actually ruined and bruised?
And the perfect has been wrong and confused?
And the smooth turns rough and uncomfortable to use?
Would people still like you?
Still call you a friend?
If they knew all the secrets, trapped within?
What if they realized what was hidden behind that pretty, perfect, smooth mask?
Would they even care to ask?
Or would they just ignore it and move on?
The mask might leave, suddenly be gone,
Will there be anyone there?
With a shoulder to cry on and show how they care?
Well my life looks pretty and perfect and smooth,
But really it’s ruined and bruised
And wrong and confused
And rough and uncomfortable to use...