Each and every stranger wears a mask,
Concealing stories of joy and tragedy.
These masks are whittled into plain shapes,
And painted with mundanity.
Because they're cautious enough to hide from abhorrent eyes.

Every person is a gift from God.
To forget that is a sin,
And the greatest mistake one could ever make.

I've met so many wonderful people in my short life.
Some carried pure warmth in their hearts, offering it up to others.
But most kept to themselves, afraid to share in felicity.
Oftentimes, I ponder on their memory,
Wondering what it would've been like if I had met these wary souls.

I was so young when it first arrived:
An itch in my heart
Deep inside my core.

Only a kid when I dreamt of the scalpel,
A way to tear out my pain.
I yearned for a permanent solution.

I hated the way the fabric wrapped tight around my waist,
Suffocating my chest.
It gripped my hips and wouldn’t let go.

Incongruence between mind and body.
It makes me restless,
Waiting forever to be cured of this wretched malady.