We wear our skin like costumes,
hoping it’ll change with the season and in
the deep, dark hours of the night,
no one will catch us sliding them off as we slip into bed.
We’re too vulnerable;
the crease in our forehead from stress
and no sleep from the pestering life we lead,
the quiet secrets we keep sealed behind our lips.
So by candlelight we reveal who we really are,
hoping no one is looking in or caring to notice
because we’re covering up ourselves
with facades and makeup and ideals we don’t have,
until our costumes start wearing us.