My face, distorted in the sun

under my right eye a deep scar remembers

the pain of abuse, and the tears he has left me inside

I could not cry under this mask, yet I find another route

To avoid pain I write with beautiful words that are yet contrite

unmasked am I yet still the searing pain hurts as a frying pan hits

my very palm. No one understands this hurt I carry

no one knows much about me.

Masked i am nothing,

Unmasked I am someone holding

onto too much pain.

Seering, yet seeing still I see yet a different picture.

I leave my mask at the door.


This poem is about: 
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741