I wear a porcelain mask.

It’s painted with bright red lips,

and shiny blue eyes.  

It’s smile never cracks-

The mask is polished.  Perfect.

Emotionless.  Powerless.  Dead.  

It fits in with the others around me.  

But underneath I’m screaming.

My eyes are shiny from crying,

and my lips are red from biting them.

I am nothing like carbon copies

in this town.  

I don’t have the money. Power.

Or mind set.  To fit in this place.

I dying to be my own person.

I wear the mask to hide the truth.

That I like punk music instead of pop.

That I’d rather take the photo

then be in it.

I prefer mountain over a beach.

But thinking on your own

is not accepted in this town.

So I pray that one day

I’ll have the chance to break free

And finally find myself without

this heavy mask.