Thousands
I’ve been many things, have lived
Many lives and many deaths, too.
All these faces I have in my arsenal,
The masks I have used in this lifetime look back.
I knew very quickly not to show the world
My face; And yes, this way of living hurts—
Like cutting yourself in a thousand little pieces,
Disfiguring yourself daily, dying over and over;
Waking up to the same unsolvable puzzle everyday
Like never truly knowing what’s looking back:
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