Masks

They make no impression; they fall through the cracks

No one would care if they never came back.

With average features of hair and eyes,

No one can see through their slipping disguise.

In their rooms at night they hide their sharp pain:

A secret they can’t wait to lose in the rain.

With parents who fight and never could care,

No one thinks to check what happens upstairs.

In the dead of night they sit all alone,

Wondering if this pain is all their own.

The whispers follow them throughout the day,

‘Whatever has happened to make them this way.’

They all have their theories but no one dare asks

Whenever the sorrow slips through their mask.