She knows not what she wants,
But only what she feels.
Happiness, sadness, hope, sorrow,
Never knowing for sure;
Just suddenly feeling,
Whatever, whenever.
They say she has it all:
The man of joy of kindness,
The features of perfected imperfection,
An appeared life of excited calm,
All of which are nothing more,
Than appearance.
Appearances, made by the unknowing.
The man is true to appearance,
But there is another,
Who is opposite the appearance.
Who holds her heart,
Tighter than she thought anyone else ever could.
She's figured out more,
Doubts and false hopes,
Than joys and wonders.
She appears to be wonderful,
But it's nothing more,
Than a mask;
Nothing more than her life,
Hidden away,
Even from her expressions,
And willingness to admit.
It's just a simple facade,
From the world and herself,
That she won't dare lose,
For a simple fear.
Fear, that maybe,
Facing her truths,
Facing her life,
Might hurt more,
Than living her lie.
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