Thursday, March 13, 2014

Everyone Hides Behind a Mask
that sooner or later sloughs off like snakeskin. i watched
a little girl in the park peeling an orange once. carelessly
and savagely. as though if she wasn’t fast enough, all
she’d be left with would be seeds too tough and bitter to
chew. i watched drop after drop run down her elbows. her
elbows all marked with scars for probably meeting the
concrete countless times. i wonder if she cried each time.
i wish we could peel off our masks the same way she did
that orange: hungry for what is inside, rather than being
too frightened to reveal the outside. but darling, you and i,
we’ve got gas masks instead. no wonder no one knows
who we are. no wonder it leaves us winded just to kiss.

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