They love the mask, but I can't breath through it's lies They love the mask, but I can't see through it's eyes They love the mask, but I can't speak with it's tongue They love the mask, but I can't hear when it's on
I've been wearing a mask for so long Hindering my ability to let people see me for who I really am It's hard to breathe behind this mask It's getting hot
Not all poems are sad Not all poets are depressed Maybe poets are just a little too happy to think about writing Until they are alone in a dark place and have no escape but writing*.