by Abbie Lord
I wear my mask to protect my vulnerability,
I wear my mask to hide the me that so many try to see.
But it gets tainted and dirty.
How does one clean away the pain and filth thrown at them everyday.
You cry until the black run's like mascara in a October rain.
You cry until it runs like me when you reach out the remove my disguise, my wall, my barrier, my me that I want you to see.
Don't ask who I am because all you will see is the blank expression of a white, clean, shining cerramic mask.