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Description

A smile is as simple as it sounds, to the point faking the slight curve on my green lips became second nature to me.

A chuckle is way too easy to perform, child’s play at that; I even have a list of pitches, to express different emotions when the timing is right to perform my role in your play called life.

A ninja’s mask to conceal myself for it’s tradition, little does anyone know, it hides more than one would consider.

I am the youngest, branded to be the cheerful one, the one that will shed light in the most dense pitch darkness of your lives.

Shackled to my pride, to my duty for what else am I good at?

I’m not the brains, though I do have my saying at times, yet cast aside as a joke, taunted, reminded of my role…

I’m not the strongest, though I have proven myself more times than not, yet overlooked, being the butt of some joke, or ignored that I even shown a part of me they believe that shouldn’t exist.

I’m not the calmest, though I do calm down when must needed, seeing things with clarity, yet treated as if I’m ill, for not acting like some hyper child that doesn’t’ know better.

My heart grows harder, suffocating by the thorny vines, created by every comment that is whipped into me by sharp tongues and disapproving eyes.

This withered heart slowly beats, losing hope, taunting me to the point who am I?

Even though the confusion breeds in me thick taking me to an icy grave of despair, do you believe, as the fear becomes of me, that I worry if this porcelain mask I wear to hide my depressing state falls apart?

What then, will I still be recognized… or will they just think this is one of my tricks once again…

Because I smile doesn’t me I’m ok…

Description

A smile is as simple as it sounds, to the point faking the slight curve on my green lips became second nature to me.

A chuckle is way too easy to perform, child’s play at that; I even have a list of pitches, to express different emotions when the timing is right to perform my role in your play called life.

A ninja’s mask to conceal myself for it’s tradition, little does anyone know, it hides more than one would consider.

I am the youngest, branded to be the cheerful one, the one that will shed light in the most dense pitch darkness of your lives.

Shackled to my pride, to my duty for what else am I good at?

I’m not the brains, though I do have my saying at times, yet cast aside as a joke, taunted, reminded of my role…

I’m not the strongest, though I have proven myself more times than not, yet overlooked, being the butt of some joke, or ignored that I even shown a part of me they believe that shouldn’t exist.

I’m not the calmest, though I do calm down when must needed, seeing things with clarity, yet treated as if I’m ill, for not acting like some hyper child that doesn’t’ know better.

My heart grows harder, suffocating by the thorny vines, created by every comment that is whipped into me by sharp tongues and disapproving eyes.

This withered heart slowly beats, losing hope, taunting me to the point who am I?

Even though the confusion breeds in me thick taking me to an icy grave of despair, do you believe, as the fear becomes of me, that I worry if this porcelain mask I wear to hide my depressing state falls apart?

What then, will I still be recognized… or will they just think this is one of my tricks once again…

Because I smile doesn’t me I’m ok…