The Mask

I am papier-mache,

Sticky with words,

Covered with paint,

Confetti, and glitter.

Everyone sees

Different pieces.

Brashness. Anger.

Unapologetic attitude.

Book smarts. Memory.

Giggling fits.

Romantic eyes.

Broken back from

All this leaning

Backward I do.

I am papier-mache

With life covering

My tiny reused print.

Obscuring who I am

Using masks and labels

Changed the context.

I am fragmented,

Scarred, and falling apart,

Save a mix of paste

Praying everything stays.

Holding tears back

To stay together,

To last a few more years.

They see strength.

I am slipping quickly.

Sheet by sheet fall,

And I count how many

Layers there are to go

Before I am out, exposed,

Naked, and afraid.