The Act Of Happy

The faces we are

willing to wear,

the lengths we are

willing to run

to put on the act of happy

The things we are

willing to do

to stop those around us

from knowing of our suffering.

We’re pulling the corners

of our cheeks up with safety pins,

stretching them to our ears to convince those

around us of our smiles.

We’re living our lives in glass houses,

not heeling too deeply

to keep cracks from forming under our feet.

We are leaving the

panes of connection

between us and others

untouched and unbroken

in hopes to keep them clean and neat

We’re parading our

feigned perfection like it’s

something to be proud of.

Like it’s something to achieve.

And this false play isn’t just for the audience,

for the performer must believe it too,

that there is joy in the make believe,

that there is joy in the music-less dance

I want to be open.

To weep when necessary,

to breathe deep.

I want to face reality,

with tears in my eyes

and a muscled smile

cheek to cheek

and say I’ve seen you,

and I know you,

and I want to embrace you.

I want to share my happy and my sad,

to let others know when I am glad.

To bare my scars and wear my heart on my

sleeve.

I want to be open and

vulnerable about my story,

to put my dance of life on a stage,

turn the music all the way up

and invite those watching to dance along with me.

I want to shatter the glass of ego

that was birthed in the furnace of pain

to hold those around me tight

flesh to flesh and meat to meat.

I want to race against my pride

back to my childhood home of

authenticity and truth

I want to help others fill their cup,

full of joy

and sorrow,

and everything in between

for without both,

without both,

life could never be complete.