You go through my closet. I have many,
paper maches, mask, faces, or soft veils.
I cannot count them all; they pass twenty.
They have colors, style, and story tales.
I wear them in different occasions,
places, moods, lies, and so so compromise.
I want them burned sending fire invasion.
If they are gone, how will I qualify?
I have been wearing masks for all my life.
Even I, do not know who I am inside.
Stripping each one off of my face is a strife
but my friend and I can see a new tide.
I can now see, I do not need to hide.
I am beautiful, wonderful, sweet bride.