Stretch

he stretched his lips

far past the edges of his face,

corners of his mouth

out wide in space,

revealing rows of teeth.

he smiled,

a smile too big for words.

people thought him a clown,

they teased and ridiculed.

through it all, he

never let his lips slip.

he smiled.

he smiled when he

brushed his teeth,

and smiled when

he went to the store.

he even smiled when

the other kids

knocked him to the floor.

through it all,

he smiled.

and yet the more he grinned

the less he knew of

what it meant to be

happy.

so even when he died

he was buried with a smile.

and though the

rest of him decayed,

his smile got to stay.

a reminder of the face

he wore to hide his pain.

a reminder that just because

he smiled,

doesn't mean he was happy.

through it all,

he smiled.

but none of that matters

when your bones crumble.

and eventually,

his grin may decay,

but for now,

the smile will stay.

a reminder.

always a reminder.