Get all your ducklings in a row
and demurely hide behind your bow
You probably don't want to know
that the real me doesn't rhyme.
I was never into makeup and hiding -
at least, that's what I told myself
as I painted up by mask.
It was fitted in rose glass -
not to cheer me up, but to make others look at me nicer.
To make my reflection look happy.
But I found out that that just makes the rotten wisps of thought collect in front of your face and obscure your vision.
There's ugly parts
and beautiful parts
and no filter will ever hide that humanity.
When I finally shouted those rising words
my rose-glass mask fell,
to the floor
and now I stand her speaking freely
trying to break the others with my voice.
This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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