Those People

"Those People", they are everywhere, They pass you on the street. They smile and say good morning To everyone they meet. They hold the door for strangers, And always seem polite, They donate to the food shelf Because they once felt hungers bite. They remember every birthday, Send your favorite cookies when they are baked. They give until there's nothing left, While you take and take and take. Doing everything their power, To put a smile on your face. All the while, concealing what's inside of them. That big, empty gaping space. As children, they were abused and broken. As adults, they wonder lost. Successfully appearing normal, No matter what the cost. But secretly they fear the night That's when their Demons come. Seeping through their armors cracks, To torture just for fun. "Those people" are all different We are not the same. I guess if this was a meeting I would've started with my name.