Please take me to the ball, where I can gaze upon masks of all colors,
Lay eyes on decorated representations of what every guest wishes to truly be on the outside,
View every gem and thread lined cover for things kept secret.

Please take me to the back room, where I can gaze upon what you conceal underneath,
Lay eyes upon the things you wish to hide-not always with deceptive intention,
View every psychological scar in which you fear exposure.

Please sit with me while I tell you why both of these are beautiful, even if occasionally (or frequently) painful.

Please listen while I account for the fact that what is so often times covered is not always something to be just that; for a lifetime of oppression against an unarmored face and a bare heart so often attract wounds.

Please continue to be attentive while I put into words the fact that though they hold the ability to be seen as insincere, these masks reflect the true desire of what one wishes to put out in to the world, though yet unachieved just below; for a lifetime of oppression against an unarmored face and a bare heart so often attract wounds.

Please grip silk ribbon now,
and lace up, or undo.
For if you wish to discuss the action of either, when exhausted of secretion or vulnerability,
I will be here,
in this back room.