Not me

As a child, I had clay masks hung upon the wall
With strong nails, I was reassured they would never fall
Some painted with sparkles, stars or a musical note
The best one, had a peacock with feathers that float
I wore them, everyday, never a day, or whenever I pleased
No matter the words I heard, I wore them even if teased
But then one day, I grew old
"Those aren't the right masks for you," I was told
New ones were bought for me, hung upon my wall
And it didn't matter if the old ones were knocked over to fall
Childhood dreams, stomped and crushed and left
Because these new masks, I was told, is what fit best

I'm 34 years old. I'm tired, burnt out and beat down emotionally from my husband. I've quit my job, taken a $30,000 loan from the bank and I'm running away. In search of a better...mask