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,


Breathe stale air

Through layers of fabric

Or some thick, three-ply


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.


Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay

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