My Mask

An old poem I wrote while in the hospital.

My mask is my weapon, my overall defense.

 

But the people who look, what do they sense?

 

My happy facade of a girl that cares, hiding a girl that fears.

 

Do they see that I think this is unfair?

 

That this phony game I'm playing is getting hard to bare?

 

I fear myself; my mental health.

 

The ice around my heart is giving my soul a cold.

 

This is getting old.

Author's Note

Please disregaurd any spelling or grammar mistakes and please do not comment anything rude.