My Mask

My hand is getting tired from holding up this mask. I've been holding it up for so long, I no longer know where my face ends and where the mask starts. Why do I wear a mask you say? Because I have to. I have a reputation to maintain, after all. I have to keep this persona , you see. Day in and day out, this mask I have to put on.

What's on the mask, you ask? It's a face with a perpetual smile; one that never falters. A face that says, "It's going to be ok." A face that says, "I'll take care of it." A face that says, "No, problem." A face that says, "Don't worry about it."

Why do I put on this bloody mask, you ask? Because I've had this mask on for quite a while; and people had forgotten that it is, after all, just a mask. I wear this mask because no one else will. I wear this mask because no one else wants to.

But then there are times when I want to put this mask down. There are times when I want people to see my real face. A face that says, "I feel a little tired today. Tomorrow, perhaps?" A face that says, "Gosh, what should I do?" A face that says, "I don't know what to do." A face that says, "Will you help me?"

I can't tell you how desperate I am to take this mask off my face. I want to rip it off my face, and throw it into the sea. I want it so badly I can taste it.. Maybe I will. Maybe soon. Or never.