My Makeup


My mask is more like makeup.

I don't hide behind an imitation, there is no shell.

I conceal.

I hide the blemishes, blend them into

the background. I love to win, but no one

sees how much I hate to lose.

I'm self destructive in the wake of a loss.

I tear myself down; I'm weak, I'm feeble, I'm a failure.

I look in the mirror and see shoulders that

aren't big enough, legs that aren't

muscular enough, a body that's not tall enough.

I work out unti I feel adequate.

I make jokes to cover up my insecurities,

to hide my displeasure with my build.

I act tough to make up for what I want, but lack.

But like makeup, some of what is seen is real.

I'm truely a joker by nature,

I love to make friends laugh. I'm in no way a

weak person, by default I'm tough like leather.

Sometimes though, I joke a little louder, I

hit a little harder until the traits I detest fade

into the background, blending among the traits I love,

and dissapear.


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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