Cracks in the Mirror

I am made up of fractions.

Dangerous foundations that. whenever shaken,

Rocks me to my very core.

There are, of course, the good parts:

Like my endless sympathy and compassion for friends.

My pleasant demeanor gets the most praise,

And I often get told my smile is infectious.

But what everyone fails to see

Is that these things aren't even a fraction of who I’m supposed to be.

For just outside my happiness lurks depression,

And hiding behind boundless kindness is a fiery anger.

I have come to know these as the parts of me that are undesirable.

Metaphorical cracks in an otherwise flawless image

Of what I learned to be a kind-hearted person.

I want nothing more than to be like what I see...

But ignoring such things begin to take their toll.

And I tire of pretending that such feelings aren’t harbored in my soul.

However, it seems like whenever I decide to show these emotions,

The times I hope for emotional support in fear of a crash,

Is when I get the most backlash.

Friends seem to keep their distance when I’m frustrated,

And worry when I’m quiet to avoid tears.

I don’t want either of these things.

So I often push these feeling aside,

Never allowing them to show through until I am alone.

But deep down I know this isn’t right.

If anything, I wish I could be more emotional around my friends.

To get compassion and comfort when sad,

And to get a level-head once more when I get mad.

To feel like and be seen as a whole person with nothing to hide

Is the only thing I want from this life.

But until that day, when I can truly understand what brings on these feelings,

And have this reason be understood by others,

My perception will still be the way it is:

Insecure, worried, and lined with cracks.