Prose by adelinefecker
I peeled her off like dry skin, cracked and old.
Like that part of your face that you’re tired of moisturizing day after day.
The medicine the doctor gave me for my wrinkles is failing
The mask you call by my name was too tired to keep going.
I suppose I should have read the directions
Too many layers from reapplying it in the bathroom stall.
I didn’t wash it off.
Layer after layer the mask got heavier.
I could feel her starting to fall off so I took her by the loosened edge and ripped.
Now I am the one who stands before you.
Naked and scratched raw.
Feeling nearly human but nearly dead.
I feel emptiness and I feel fulfillment.
I feel light and I feel tears on my new skin.
All burning the scratch marks.
When you peel off a price tag it leaves a sticky residue
Like a handprint left on skin or a crack left on a heart.
I feel the mask there
Still wanting to be seen.
Still wanting more attention.