sorrow etched his face
much like hard work
callused his hands
it was a part of him
a defining trait
like hazel eyes
or a receding hairline
he owned it
his smile
never reached his eyes
carried that tinge of bitterness
sarcasm
flavored his speech
self doubt
was his cologne of choice
it wasn’t his fault or design
he was just smart enough
to read the lies
just dumb enough
to believe them
don’t ask if he is okay
he will just smile
and say
of course