It (#Wattys2016)

clown tears

she juggles her troubles into the air

laughing and laughing, as if she can't care

stitches the bleeding cuts within her lungs

pretend she's not drowning, claims to have fun.

brushes shy features with buckets of paint

waits for the wild shades to colour her quaint

tries to conceal all the monsters lurking within

walks up to the crowd with an enchanting grin.

then dances in circles until it tires her out

scares away all the crafty whispers of doubt

waits for the audience to clap and to cheer

hopes it'll be enough to chase off her fears.

yet, all that she earns is a penny an hour

takes up an eternity to construct her tower

but in the name of beating her insecurities dumb

she wills herself to amuse people, even when numb.

now, as she sings softly atop of the world

then, a mere child – now, more than a girl

she knows that her monsters still thrive healthy and well

someone big – she may be, but it still feels like hell.