The masks I wear are numerous,
some are big, some are small,
some are lies, but not all.

I wear a mask every time I lie.
I wear an even bigger mask every time I cover up that lie.

I wear a mask every time I deny who I am.
I wear a mask all the time.

I wear a mask every time I decide that my friend needs me more than I need them.
I’ve become good at wearing masks.

I wear a mask every time I walk out of the house.
I’m never without a mask.

I wear a mask whenever someone asks me how I am.
My masks are strong.

I wear a mask with my friends.
My masks are bold.

I wear a mask when I’m not alone.
My masks are quiet.

I wear a mask at parties.
My masks are loud.

My masks are not masks.
No, they're not masks at all.

My masks are tiny pieces of me.
Tiny pieces of me that I let shine through.

My masks are nothing close to masks,
because masks are lies.
And I...
am not a lie.