I appear to be exuberant,
I appear to live in grace,
I appear to love the makeup,
That hides the scars upon my face,
From a distance you may presume
That I’m just another flower in the bloom,
Waiting for the petals to start to grow,
And fill the holes which dig down low,

As the venomous powder ponders in,
And the pores are less exposed,
I feel upon my chin,
To find another has composed,

But as I reach for my concealer,
As my hands skim the lid,
I wonder if perfection,
is what I want or need to rid

Should I hide behind my makeup?
Or should I let my confidence die?
Knowing without my protective shield,
I’d be scared to go outside

Or should I now be brave?
And step outside the mask,
Knowing judgement is in my brain,
And makeup an enslaving task