A life without selfies

In my pictures I seem happy and joyous

never without a smile

or a hand to hold

but underneath all the filters

and the million tons of makeup

I cease to exist

I stay in my room

and blast music until my eyes are void of tears

I scratch paper with my pencils

to make the pain that I bear go away

I may be a smiling “all is good” buffoon

in my color corrected

pixelated selfies

but I am not that person

I am a concealed masterpiece

who cries their self to sleep  

and who laughs at almost anything

but who will be angered at the slightest nasty comment

No matter what I look like in my selfies,

I will never forget the intricate person that inhabits this body