Sometimes I like to wear a mask,
Put on a plastic face so no one can see.
They've fallen for the person I pretend to be.
Painted with a thousand colors,
I'm a work of art.
As far as they know.
Glued together by the idea of perfection,
I'm an idealistic mess of irony.
A smile pasted permanently over the pain.
To be honest, I'm not okay.