i don’t look pretty when i cry; i’m fully aware of this. i don’t tell you that it’s hard to wear a mask all the time because i don’t want to burden you with my problems. beneath the mask with its painted on grin, i’m red and blotchy, my skin is hot and damp and far from perfect. and on the surface, my masks cherubic paint is slowly chipping away from the damage of hot salty tears that well up in my eyes like tea splashing into a saucer from a tea cup thrown onto a table.
Created: Jul 24, 2010Document Media