This is the me

What can I say,
I get through each day
just like you,
pretending and
pretending still,
and shaping the face
like a porcelain doll
waiting for the
lights to go out
and the whole of
my being to emerge
like a butterfly at night.

This is the me that
none can see away from
the glare and the stare
that sucks the soul.

This is the me hidden with pain,
insane from living this life
but wanting it still as
a pill to keep me alive.

This is the me you
see and cannot know
as paradox living in
light and dark as art
for display on every screen.

This is the me lying in
the dark waiting for the
awful sun to contrive a rise.