My Mask

A simple, yet powerful object
Of which you hide your face
To cover up all the scars
And leave not a single trace

It not only does conceal
All your blemishes and spots
But gets rid of all your worries
And hides all your fears and whatnot.

It protects you from the world
Hides you from the judgements of society
It masks you and makes you perfect
Or so, that’s the deemed propriety.

It shapes you into something beautiful
Or so that is what it seems
But behind this mask so alluring
There is nothing, but me.

So I ask myself every day
After my pain and giving up
That maybe one-day I won’t be considered
As just a girl, buried under makeup.