Pretty Masks

Pastel masks of perfection

designed to improve

our disturbing reflection.

 

Made too thick to look past,

it's such a necessity for some

the marks will last.

 

It morphs into our skin,

becomes a part of us,

makes everything fake within.

 

It covers the stains of our cries

to become yet another norm.

What a wonderful disguise. 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741