When I put on a mask,
I put on two masks.
The invisible mask hides
(or attempts to)
the constant pain and fatigue and and and
that has made up my life for – oh – half a lifetime now;
helps others to cope
with what I live with,
whilst I smile, smile.
The pretty mask,
– the home-made one with long-loved fabric – hides
(or attempts to)
something of the fear of stepping out
into the now-unknown;
protects
(or attempts to)
this fragile body from further assault.
Yes.
Two masks.
Two lives.
