I wrote this in 2013 and originally published this through my college's e-zine, The Intaglio, in 2015. I've always liked this poem, and it still seems relevant and relatable.
This has been edited for more concise wording.
🎭
The mask I wear is so vibrant and beautiful.
The foundation is fragile, delicate and white.
Elaborate swirls decorate the smooth surface.
Unseen at the base is a crack beneath the paint.
It gets bigger and bigger, a bit at a time
until the building pressure splinters the facade.
The mask once so beautiful now lies in pieces;
scattered and shattered lay decorative fragments.
Slowly and carefully I piece it together,
seal the fractures and repaint the damaged surface;
reinforced with a coat, but never again whole.
Yet I put it back on because it is my mask.
