Most days I believe
I have fooled them well enough,
even while I stumble
through my lines,
and the body language
feels forced and off cue.

Though there are moments
that their eyes
flash mirrors of doubt my way,
like white hot spotlights.

Then I return home,
catch a glimpse of myself
in my car window,
and see my dayworn disguise
running down my visage
in pale streaks.

I go inside,
lock the door,
close the blinds,
and wash my face
in the bathroom sink,
staring at myself
in the mirror.

And as I scrub away
the vanilla mask,
every nerve sighs.