Looking around I see masks,

not faces, but masks.

Masks that people have painted on over time.

Some ugly,

as if hatred had a color and sin were the brush.

Some beautiful,

a facade built solely to distract.

Others broken,

cracked and damaged beyond repair,

inhuman.

Even though we pretend not to notice,

or are simply oblivious to the fact,

we all have our masks.

- j.b.