You go through my closet. I have many,

paper maches, mask, faces, or soft veils.

I cannot count them all; they pass twenty.

They have colors, style, and story tales.

I wear them in different occasions,

places, moods, lies, and so so compromise.

I want them burned sending fire invasion.

If they are gone, how will I qualify?

I have been wearing masks for all my life.

Even I, do not know who I am inside.

Stripping each one off of my face is a strife

but my friend and I can see a new tide.

I can now see, I do not need to hide.

I am beautiful, wonderful, sweet bride.