The Masked Days

I wrote this poem on this day last year. Not much has changed. I am getting sick and tired of having one (or two) masks on the entire day. It is not pleasant at all.

The no-makeup, plain-face,

Now-okay-with-being-Janes,

Breathe stale air

Through layers of fabric

Or some thick, three-ply

Plastic-nightmare…

Perfectly concealed stays

The permanent, unamused

Animated face, not unfazed

By a completely random

Unscratchable itch

Which disappears leaving

A definite trace – a new spot

Finding a spot on

The no-makeup, scar face-

The masked days

Have now overstayed

Their unwelcome.

©Aaysid

Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay