Layer upon layer of masks.

One small, one red, one plagued with faux happiness.

A mask of royal purple.

A mask as silver as starlight.

The streets are crowded with personalities, each one unique as a gem.

But today I just don't feel like talking to them.

A masked smile, to appease the masses, though it lacks conviction.

Trying to be someone else for a moment is not a restriction.

I scurry home, head down, boots covered in snow.

The true me, the one about to open, no one out there would know.

A door opens.

Apple cider, frosted pine trees and a touch of vanilla; and the mask falls off.

Home, my world, my domain away from the outside.

With a tap of a button the melody drifts through the room as I emerge; the false 'mes' set to the wayside.

Upbeat and slow, jazz and hip rolling music and I begin to move.

The most genuine smile on my face, only there to prove...

This is the real me, the me that most matters, the me that you can see if you see the real me.