Masks

Is it odd that I must ask a question,

Each time I see my own reflection?

I look in the mirror, who will I see?

Which face will be there, staring back at me?

.

The one with the warm and friendly smile?

Or the one spitting words of hate and bile?

Or the stern, authoritative figure?

Or the angry one, easy to trigger?

.

I never know which I’ll see staring back,

Or even if it’s real or just a mask.

So long is it since I knew my true face,

Each one I wear, as my own, I must embrace.

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