Behind This Mask

A mask,
like a heavy coat
of snow,
like a sweater
on an autumn
Sunday morning,
can hide many things.
It hides one's
thoughts,
it hides one's
opinions,
it hides one's
self.
At some point,
we all walk around 
with a mask,
while our face is still
completely revealed,
while it appears with a smile,
while it appears with a grin,
while it appears with a pair of
laughing lips.
We discover secrets,
our insides burn,
but we keep our skin cool.
We inherit disappointment,
the lines between our eyebrows
deepening,
but immediately fading away.
We become stressed,
we lose sleep,
letting any weight that burdens us fall
into our eyes,
where we forever conceal it,
keeping the dark circles,
the heavy bags,
only to ourselves. 
But at some point,
this weight becomes too much to carry.
At some point, this mask will not be able
to stay put,
to continue on,
glued to the being 
that we know ourselves to be,
that we want to be,
that we are afraid to be.
Eventually, 
this mask becomes useless.
Eventually,
we realize 
there is no point
in keeping it on,
knowing that it will,
someday,
really be gone.
Our faces should not only be seen,
they should be known,
so that the passion that lights our eyes
is real,
it is true.
We should never have put that mask on in the first place.