The friend who is always happy
hides a terrible truth that lies beneath.
That's just barely visible
between the gap of their smiling teeth.
Because their smile holds sadness,
but the kind of sadness rooted in pain.
The kind of pain people make jokes about
to convince themselves they're still sane.
The friend knows no limits.
The friend knows no fear.
The friend is always happy.
They make that incredibly clear.
Except to themself.
Who they can't talk to without crying.
They have this big secret
which they feel guilty about for lying.
Because the anxiety doesn't get better.
They just hope people don't notice.
The trust issues don't go away.
They just come in and out of focus.
But the friend must be happy.
That's how it's always been.
They're never disappointed.
It just wasn't the right time yet
for them to win.
And people so freely share their two cents.
"I can't believe you're so okay after everything."
"I mean, it just doesn't make sense."
"There's something you must be hiding."
"Don't you want that kind of succes?"
I want...
I mean, the friend...
Wants a peaceful mind I guess.
Because sure achievements are great.
Falling in love even better.
But I'm sickened by the way there could have
existed a version of me without anxiety.
And I...
I mean, the friend...
Never met her.
Because when I was very little,
almost too little to comprehend.
I learned that words show no mercy to break
what people only meant to try and bend.
But the friend is always happy.
As the air escapes her lungs.
She lies motionless on a playground.
The weapons are words carried by tongues.
The friend is always available.
The friend will never fight.
So the friend believes anything you say about her.
"Of course, you're always right."
But the trusting gets heavy.
But the mind loses its ease.
So the friend begs to be loved with.
"I'll do anything, please."
But anything becomes everything.
Until everything is always "on".
So the friend goes and tells her...
Tells herself, "I need this habit gone."
Because the friend isn't always happy.
They're just good at playing pretend.
The smile that radiates out of them
as they turn the corner.
I watch it end.
Because the smile doesn't hold sadness.
It carries hope with nowhere to go.
Because the friend who's always happy,
makes sure sadness you never know.
Because to them it's an old friend
that feels comfortable at times.
That overstayed it's welcome.
That lingered in way too many rhymes.
Because if I'm hopeless
then the expectations are always low.
If I expect someone to hurt me,
it hurts less to me when they go.
When disappointment fills the room
of storage of my mind.
It makes it more reasonable when,
"What's best for me?",
I can't find.
Because the friend who's always happy,
is always happy.
That's not untrue.
But I worry that the reasons
for their happiness are externally paid.
And the rent for self love is due.
