𝙿𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛

──── ୨୧ ────

The smile sits neatly, stitched in place,
A practiced thing, a borrowed face,
I know the lines, I know the role,
How strange to fake a scripted soul.

They speak of sparks like gospel hymns,
Of aching hearts and wedding rings,
And I just nod, perform my part,
A paper actor, stage-made heart.

I wear my mask till skin feels thin,
Till silence settles in my ribs,
A bitter taste, a quiet ache,
How much of me must I forsake?

Still, somewhere past the painted glass,
Beyond the version built to last,
There waits a self I’ve yet to show,
Soft as truth and sharp as no.

──── ୨୧ ────