MASK
My mouth is twisted behind this soft poly-cotton fiber
with little mustaches across it
bent at the corners trying to hold up the loosely fitting fabric
on the bridge of my nose
It’s oddly satisfying worrying about the itch that just won’t go away
Instead of watching the brokenness so willing to be in the limelight
The brokenness that is me
My eyes are smiling
This poem is about:
Me
Our world