Poker Face

i have the prettiest poker face. smile. eyes wide. raise an eyebrow. then pass it off like you don care. fake a laugh if you ever need to cry. it’s crazy to think that this method has been indoctrinated into me from birth, that it has now become the flesh and bones of my soul. i wish people wouldn’t call me fake though. can they see that I do it all for them? what if I were to fall, to fall so far from this image of myself that I put out into the world. would I be left behind? would I be rewarded? no one can know for sure. i have been told that I could play poker with the greats, generating false confidence, giving out false hope. my heart is not made of ice, but it is made out of shattered glass, the kind that only cuts the inside. people cant see the inside, only what you show them. so I continue to fake a laugh, wink, smile and pretend none of it matters. because when you are living on the top, everything that you do matters.