Stolen Lives
The actors had no identity of their own.
They danced around, singing out
their stories. Their stories that were not
theirs. The colorful masks sparkled
under the stage lights. Almost blinding.
I held my breath. A man stood before me,
his beak almost puncturing my nose.
He gripped my arm and pulled me on stage.
The masked creatures backed out of the light
to give me room. I was frozen. Sweat
dripped down my skin. Pressure sunk
into my face. My Jell-O hands inched
towards it. A tear rolled down my cheek.
I, too, had a mask.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Added by Poetry Lover
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