It’s too easy to fake a smile,
force a laugh,
say “I’m doing well”
It’s too easy to go with the flow,
to become clichés,
to rely on autopilot.
It’s too easy to slather on foundation,
to cover the scars, the moles, the freckles,
It’s so easy no one notices it’s happening,
no one stops to pause,
until the snowflakes melt into a warm puddle.
But where did the fractalasmic patterns go?
They still haunt us
when it’s dark and cold
and we wonder how to be ourselves again—
wonder what we’ve done.