A mask shrouds
My low, self esteem,
Hiding me in plain sight
No one else can see
Just how hideous
This creature is
In day light—
I’d rather be
Way below the earth
Where worms
Take turns,
Devouring
Internal organs
Until there’s
Nothing left of
—Me
Maybe when they’re done,
I’d turn out much better
Never denying the sun
Again
Laughing at weddings,
Crying at funerals
—Like a normal person
But I don’t think that’s possible
Perhaps probable
Maybe
Of course
There’s all sorts
—Of
Variables
For what it’s worth
Nothing else matters
In a world scorched
By fake reports
And fornicators
About the Creator
Iosefa Manu
I write to let the demons out.
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