Masks & Lies

I wear many masks —

all different, yet reflective;

The son, the friend, and

the martyr’s corpse.

All hand-made for

each relative who still calls,

and one for the strangers

on the walk home.

I wear these masks —

these cheap imitations

like swords and armor

for my sallowed skin

I wear these lies

because I must

and for all the eyes

I do not trust.