Underneath it all
Underneath it all, she isn’t fine. Underneath all the makeup, the big hair and the fancy clothes. Underneath all the smiles, giggles and jokes. Underneath the happy, excited, enthusiastic look in her eyes. Underneath the swing of her hips and those black high heels. Underneath the sweet hugs and the advise she gives. Underneath it all there is emptiness, a void. A void that, if it would be filled at all, would be filled with sadness and desperation, and not with hope and love and perseverance. I’ve been told it gets better, stranger.
