Melt the liquid make-up from my solidified face.
I have let my friends, my family, and myself weld it straight to my face.
It masks my freckles, my fear, and my blemishes.
The world has cloaked me inside a dark, cold caccoon.
But I have found a swiss army knife, embedded into the crevasses of my pocket.
This has proved itself worthy as I begin to tear at the syrupy, goop encasing me.
When I open my eyes and breathe
I notice that my skin no longer burns.
My clothes no longer constrict me. My life-- no longer a perfect concoction conjured by society.
I am my purest form.
I am me.
The melting has just begun.