The Mask We Wear

A mask is what we wear.

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes.

On the mask is a smile.

Forced. Real. Unsure. Scared. Alone. Broken.

It’s always different. For every person.


With our heart’s torn and bleeding, we smile.

Hiding the tears.

We numb and we hide and we pretend.

Pretending that everything will be okay.

That we’ll be okay.

But we are getting sick and tired of always being someone we are not.

Aren’t we? Or is even that us pretending?


We just want to hide our fear.

Fear of never being good enough for anyone.

Fear that no one will ever love us.

Fear that we won’t love ourselves.


It’s amazing, isn’t it?

What we can fake with a smile.

That’s all it takes. A beautiful [fake] smile.

It hides our injured soul so deep.

That no one ever knows how broken we really are.


“Are you okay?”

They would ask, sounding like they actually care about.


“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Is what we say with that fake twinkle we have gotten so used to wearing.


We say it over and over, repeatedly tucking away our heart.

We don’t want to have it broken. Not again.

We act as if nothing is wrong.

That we are not breaking.

That we are fine.


They are such fools.

Believing us so easily.

Can’t they see our pain? Our tears.

Are they even looking?

Why can’t they tell that we’re wearing a mask?

Is the smile that we wear too good?


We are good at it. Hiding.

It’s what we do. Hidden behind our mask.

It comes so naturally for us.

But sooner or later it becomes an addiction.

Our need to lie becomes too great.


No one ever thinks we’ll fall apart. That we’ll break.

But we do. So much.

Sometimes that’s good, but not always.

There are times where we wish we could just break down.

On someone’s awaiting shoulder.

As they comfort our pain.

But for now, our masks will remain on.



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