The Creation of the Mask

We aren't born with insecurity,

 But over time we lose our pride

and with it our perfect purity

when told we've something to hide.

We take a being so unique

And demand from it conformity,

but with each meticulous critique 

we turn beauty to deformity.

I can't compare to those I see,

the symbols of perfection,

so I shall change each part of me

beyond my recollection. 

A mask of makeup and a forced smile

shall serve as my disguise.

And in the mirror, all the while,

a stranger bears my eyes.

Without my guise I'm left to fear

their unfeeling criticisms.

The wicked whispers that I hear

strengthen my cynicism. 

I resent the mask I wear,

suffocating and cosmetic,

but the whispers are too much to bear

in a world so apathetic.


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