the damage

I laugh well and often enough,
sounds of mirth rising richly
from the core of my soul.

My smile is neither timid
nor falsely conveyed,
however disbelieving you may be.

I rise every morning, dress,
sip my tea with honest pleasure,
and kiss my children goodbye.

I step into the world each day
intent on carrying concealed
my angry burdens as my own.

But they are there, as are yours,
and wholly formed, albeit raw
as a fresh wound at times.

You may not see it on my skin,
but that may only be because
the damage takes time to show.

Watching another spring snowfall in Salt Lake City (15 Apr 2021)