MASKS 🎭
A poem about the faces we show the world — and the battles we hide underneath.
How many versions of ourselves do we create just to hide the truth?
Sometimes the smile is real.
Sometimes it is survival.
MASKS
Blue eyes.
Ivory smile.
Beautiful hair.
Perfect life
written across my face.
Scratch the surface.
I start to bleed.
The mask slips—
only a little.
Green eyes.
Successful life.
Perfect partner.
Flashy car.
Ideal home.
Everything looks perfect.
Scratch the surface.
I bleed again.
The smile fades.
The mask slips
a little more.
Grey eyes.
Dark circles.
Lines around my eyes.
Loneliness.
Broken trust.
A heart growing darker
with every passing day.
Scratch the surface.
The wound opens.
I cannot stop the bleeding.
The mask slips
even further.
Red eyes.
I try to hide them.
I tell everyone
I’m okay.
I smile.
I laugh.
I carry on.
But my bleeding heart
will not stop.
The pain will not stop.
The darkness
feels all-consuming.
Yet I smile.
I pretend
everything is okay.
It’s not.
Scratch the surface.
Too many cuts.
Too many wounds.
Too many scars.
One by one,
every mask
falls to the floor,
shattering
into thousands
of pieces.
Black eyes.
Hollow eyes.
No smile.
No mask.
No strength left
to pretend.
Only pain.
Only darkness.
And the haunted memory
of everything
that once mattered,
of everyone
I tried so hard
to convince
I was okay.
When all along—
I wasn’t.
Behind the Words
How many masks do we wear before someone finally sees the real person underneath?
Sometimes the smile is real.
Sometimes it is survival.
Masks is a poem about the hidden battles we carry, the lives we sometimes pretend are perfect, and what can exist beneath the version of ourselves we allow the world to see.
We never truly know what somebody else is carrying.
Perhaps sometimes the greatest kindness we can offer is simply to look a little deeper. 🤍