A poem taking a look at people's secrets.
|I have one. |
You have one.
The beautiful girl sitting next to you has one too.
She has a mask.
A plastic face for her plastic smile.
A plastic smile to hide how self- couscous she really is.
A beautiful face with chiseled features, to keep one from realizing where her lunch is gonna go when she's done eating it.
Running back up her throat in liquid form.
The kid across from you, the one with leather jacket and the nose ring.
He has a mask.
A hardcore exterior.
An attitude that say' s stay the fuck away.
An urge to fuck daddy's little princess, no matter the size of his gun.
A hardcore exterior to hide his soft insides.
An attitude that says stay the fuck away so no body asks, nobody wonders what he wants to do with the gun shoved in the crotch of his pants.
An urge to fuck daddy's little princess, no matter the size of his gun, because the one princess he always wanted never had a daddy to piss off or a gun, she never took a liking to him anyway.
The business lady beside you, the one on the phone.
She has a mask.
A nice, black dress.
Hair in a ponytail.
She doesn't speak unless she's spoken too.
A nice, black dress because that's what her boss requires.
Hair in a ponytail because that's what she requires, how are you supposed to blow your boss for a promotion with hair in your face? How is a single mother supposed to raise kids and keep a job without a promotion?
Mild mannered, because all her ex-husbands taught her women should be seen, not heard.
She doesn't speak unless she's spoken to, because in the business world, her word doesn't matter.
Everyone has a mask.
Everyone lies and everyone has something to hide.
A story to tell.
Whether your the mentally challenged kid greeting people at Wal Mart,
the drunk, homeless man living in the dumpster,
the fat kid down the street,
or even the popular kid up the block.
Everyone has a story.