Today I died a thousand times,
No one came to the funeral; and no one cried.
The only part which anyone sees,
Is the outer shell with the hurt hidden inside.

There are never any questions,
People really want or wait for the answers to.
Much easier to notice the smile,
Never daring ask, “Is there anything I can do?”

The smiles and tone of voice,
Completely rehearsed and measured by now.
So there is never any thought,
Of how desperate I am for a human’s touch.

Yes, I am a very large part,
Of the complexity of hiding this deep secret.
Because to show my true self,
Only opens the door for doubts and ridicule.

But you see the pain lays buried,
Far below the surface, safe from examination.
No questions will be asked this day,
For I have managed again to hide the real me.

Needing rest from the daily battle,
Which haunts my mind and consumes my soul.
To sleep today until the end of time,
No more tears or racing thoughts, only silence.

In peace among the grains of sand,
With the tide my identity is washed out to sea.
Gone the torment and torture for now,
Waiting for the sunlight to warm my silent soul.

I am faced daily with the possibility,
I have died but I just cannot deal with reality.
For today I died a thousand times
No one here for the funeral; and no one cried.


© Brenda Sparkman
June 25, 2007