The Weight Of A Smile Poem by Frankline Shem O.

They love the way my teeth catch the light,
the way my laughter spills like wine—
sweet, expensive, intoxicating.

They sip, they smile, they never taste the after bite.

I have mastered the art of deception,
curled joy around my tongue until it sounds real,
held my breath until the silence feels like part of me.

Every morning, I iron out the creases,
smooth my face like glass,
uncrackable, unreadable.

Because no one inspects what looks perfect.

I tell jokes, and they don't hear the hollow ring.
I say, "I'm fine, " and they believe me—
as if my voice doesn't tremble at the edges,
as if my hands aren't cold beneath the table.

Do they not see?
How my fingers twitch at the seams of my sleeves,
how my laugh is just a well-rehearsed echo?
How my silence presses like fingers on a bruise—
lingering, deep, unseen?

I smile. I smile. I smile.
Not like a wound forced shut,
but like a trick lock, a magician's misdirection.
Look here, not there. Believe me, not the truth.

No one notices the fractures—
how my laughter sours in the back of my throat,
how the silence between my jokes swells
like a tide that never recedes.

At night, when no one is watching,
I let the facade slip, just a little,
just enough to breathe without breaking the illusion.
Because some smiles are shields,
and mine is battle-worn.

It was never just a smile—
it was a polished mirror, reflecting what they wanted to see.
Practiced until my lips forgot any other shape.

Holding my breath for so long—
no one noticed when I stopped.

Maybe they never really saw me.
Maybe I don't exist when I'm alone.