(This poem won 3rd place for Senior Poetry in my High School Magazine. I'm happy.)

The masks we show fill up a bag

or two or three or four,

they change each day, if not each hour

I wonder who has more.

The popular girl who cries each night?

The boy who never laughs?

New kids who will never fit?

I see so many masks.

Forever hiding from the world

that "real self" we feel.

So many different masks we show

are any of them real?