Sewn ones

Shopped ones

Neck gators

Bandanas

Loops over the ears

Loops around the head

Ones with funky fabric

Ones in surgical white

Ones in plain patterns

Ones in all black

Pleated ridges and squares

Curvy nose bridges and wires

GIANT PLASTIC SHIELDS OF MIGHT!

And

Every

Single

One

Is

Beautiful

Because that person chose to care

There’s a girl,

who wears

a beautiful mask.

She paints her face,

both physically

and emotionally,

with everything

people expect

from her:

beauty,

grace,

smiles

and

perfection.

They don’t

expect her

to know

too much,

to say

too much.

She just has

a purpose

of

sitting still

and

looking pretty.

She does what

they expect,

while crying

behind the mask,

which would look

hideous to others

as makeup

smears all over her

face,

she smiles

and laughs

when deep down

she’s cracking,

snapping

and internally

Dying,

as she lies

and hides

the truest beauty,

of being herself,

because others

expected different of her.

Of her fragile

body

and fragile

mind,

which is now

all

broken

and bruised,

as she stands

on edge,

taking in a deep breath

of life,

before lying again,

to everyone

but most

importantly

herself,

saying she’s fine,

and

perhaps

she’ll

turn and walk away

or

perhaps

she won’t,

perhaps

she has had enough.

2.7.2020

A beautiful mask,

to cover the lack of empathy.

I fell,

head over heels,

again and again.

Tumbling forward,

unable to see the truth

under that mask of manipulation.

I doubted myself,

when I should have been doubting you.

Gullible and vulnerable.

A fool for you.

Needlessly hurt,

at my own hand,

because you hid under the mask of beauty,

and I could not see,

how easily I could be freed.

He fell in love,

not with her,

but with her mask.

Beautiful it was,

but he never knew,

that under that mask,

she was dying.

Choking,

and suffocating,

slowly,

painfully.

And,

the golden girl,

he saw before him,

was made of ashes.

Both will disintegrate

the smile and the art

these eyes and magazine

this nose and the article concealed

the face and the cover

the feather and the cap

will all be blown as one

ashes to ashes

dust to dust

...

dearly departed

that beautiful mask

till now was us

even the vanity we glanced from behind the glass has become just a passing thought

07.05.2020

A Beautiful Mask challenge @Ernaline

she could be beautiful.

at least her mask is.

her cover-up,

her facade,

the pretending

that saves her from

herself.

you look at her,

you see it.

bright lipstick,

tight smile.

flutterly lashes,

moist eyes.

long legs,

shaky knees.

the mask,

it's going to shatter.

what's she hiding?

They stared at each other quietly. Alice heard her heart, thudding dully, in her ears. Her mouth felt dry. She had begun to recognise the slight shuffle in his step, but was still uneasy whenever he appeared. Adam started laying out cutlery for breakfast. 

She knew he had felt it his duty to come and stay with her. Her brother had changed in the past few months and the yellow skin around his face sagged. His fingers lead a nervous dance when he chatted, which she’d never seen before. Adam was the family musician, who had argued that there was no value in monetary success and tried to be happy instead.

A smear on the table caught her attention when she noticed, again, Adam’s ring. It was one of those small details that had, over time, become a part of Adam’s perceived identity. He’d found the silver band on the floor of a flea market, and his middle finger had born it ever since. Adam liked the idea of things. 

‘Well,’ she said, ‘this looks delicious.’

‘Is this how Paul would have cooked it?’ Adam asked.

Alice looked down at the watery scrambled eggs. They looked like something the dog had chewed up and spat back out.

’They're perfect,' she answered.

She knew Adam was trying to be comforting. But she was somewhat flummoxed that he would bring up her comatose husband every chance he got. He was determined to do everything for her that Paul had done. It still hurt her heart to think about Paul, as if the wind has been knocked out of her. How many times had she fallen in love with him? Over and over, and she'd have done it again.

Alice was seventy-four years old, and her husband had leukemia. It was one of those tragedies that people did not attention to. Because of their age, perhaps, because Alice, unlike Adam, had held on to a job and raised a family. Because her husband wasn’t dead yet. So she wore a mask which protected her from anyone else’s gaze, even her brother’s. One of peace, acceptance and beauty.

The boy sat in the car searching for it. Under the seats, in the glove compartment, and in the door storage spaces. Panic sets in as he gets out to check the backseat. His palms began to sweat. His heart beats dangerously hard in his chest. I’m so stupid! He could not believe he had made this mistake.

They have been 2 days without food in the house. He couldn’t allow that to continue. Going back home empty handed was not an option. He couldn’t bother mom. The last time he asked her for something she cried in her room for 2 days. Leaving him to take care of his 2-year-old twin brothers. Every little thing sets her off. She is too fragile. She has been this way since his younger sister and dad died one month ago.

Getting back in the car he thinks hard. He has to take care of the family. His dad always told him that. He’d taken a risk driving here, underage with no driver’s license. He thought of his brothers at home, hungry in front of the TV. He takes his dad’s keys from the ignition. Takes the credit card from his dad’s wallet. He adjusts his dad’s favorite baseball cap on his head and gets out of the car. Holding back tears of fear, he finally understood what “man up” truly meant.

With the thought of the twins forcing his every step, he enters the supermarket 10 minutes before close. He reluctantly breathes the recycled air as he quickly makes his way through the store. He grabs 4 gallons of milk, several jars of peanut butter and jelly, and several loaves of bread. He quickly scans and pays at self-checkout. Throwing everything in the back seat he slowly hurries home. Be carfeful. No more mess ups.

He parks on the street and struggles down his driveway with the heavy bags. At the back door he finds his mask on the ground. Damn. Once inside, he thoroughly washes his hands and face at the kitchen sink. He removes his clothes and throws them in the washer. He grabs clean clothes out of the dryer and puts them on.

He checks on everyone. The boys are still watching their movie and mom’s door is still locked. He gets emotional. Relieved that he had made it back safely and that things are still the same at home. Not okay but at least the same. He makes six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pour 3 cups of milk. In this moment he feels some sense of normalcy.

Tomorrow he will worry about Covid19. Tomorrow he will hope his mom snaps out of her depression. Tomorrow he will grieve the death of his father and sister. He had done enough of that for today.