Mask

I have got three sitting

On a shelf in my room.

Another hanging from a bedpost.

One mask studded with pearls,

Another with long, flowing ribbons.

One I put on to face my parents,

To play the dutiful daughter.

The other belongs in a group of old friends

Where I pretend that the years

Have done nothing to change me.

Though some masks are rarer to wear,

For fancy occasions and the like,

My worn masks I wear every day,

To work, to drink coffee,

To sit for an hour on the bus.

I am passing, anonymous,

A face easy to forget,

Just the same as all the other

Masked faces surrounding me.

I wonder if it is the same for everyone.

The coming home and untying the strings,

Letting the mask slip from my face

And fall silently to the floor.

Alone, behind walls is where I can breathe,

The only place I dare to be me.

One day perhaps I will show my true face

To the bustling world outside.

But until the day when I feel that brave,

Behind my mask is where I will hide.