This society is a mask.
The specific structure of my face vanishes,
no longer visible
hidden by the pressure of my surroundings.
My only identification alluded by the plastic
constructed features.
I tried embracing the fraudulent shroud,
stretching it tighter in hopes of divulging details of
what lies beneath. But, hardly
a rough outline of the bridge my nose became delineated.
Parts of my thin lips peaked through,
not enough to know they’re mine.
No matter how distorted, the stealer of individuality encompasses
my identity.

The apertures cut out for my eyes subsist of
diminutive slits and
I can’t see clearly anymore.
Scissors won’t deform this
abject affectation; I’ve tried and nothing changes.
I still can’t see.
The strangers striding past me appear indiscernible from my best friend
And that bumble bee on the Sunflower
is probably a wasp.
The narrow lenses produce a pounding headache,
my protruding veins go unseen.
Suffused by darkness,
the color of my eyes remain, like the rest,
indistinguishable.