masks

What happened to all those masks he thought...

he used to like the one with the happy face
but now it chafes and makes his eyes water
it just didn't seem to fit right anymore.
and it produced that funny tin echo when he laughed

the sad faced mask was comfortable when Rafael died
but lately he started slipping it on by mistake
most often during corny scenes in movies
or late at night when no one was around

the anger mask was his favorite when he was young
he wore it proudly with its' red war paint and menacing eyes
but now it was cracked and faded and heavy
so heavy he could only wear it briefly before his neck started to hurt from the strain

the fear mask was broken and was indistinguishable from apathy
the surprise and anticipation masks were lost
he couldn't remember the last time he saw them
maybe somewhere at the bottom of his closet

his least favorite masks, disgust and shame,
were still in fine shape though
he told himself that was because he hardly wore them
that's what he told himself...

but he still liked the poker face mask
with its calm pale exterior and smooth texture.
he sat there one morning admiring its fit and feel
until he realized he was not wearing a mask and was looking at his real face