Unmasked

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UNMASKED


Alright I'll drop the bit. I'm far

more simple than I would like 


to admit. I eat sweet cereal at night. 

In the morning I try on more than one 


life before I step into my own. 

When I get there I want to go 


home. I used to shuffle my feet

till I caught a callus on the clumsy seams 


with which they’ve stitched

the place. After that it was a race


to grow out my fingernails for a better grip  

on the flap of skin beneath the chin


or somewhere at back of my neck. 

(The hard part would be clearing 


the nose. After that, it would snap off 

the scalp like a swimmer’s cap.)


Heck, even pulling off my face

is a simple hope. Face it: we all just want


the chance—preferably before we die—

to look something real in the eye. 

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