boys like me wear masks of steel.
terrible, grey things that hook into our faces like parasites. masks that sink deep and can change form and texture when we please, but never come off. sometimes, we try to pry them off, desperate. but our fingers come away bloody and scabbed.
these masks are thin, but hard and resolute. they know their purpose and serve it well.
we scrub our masks and keep those terrible grey things shiny and glinting for every new day.
a part of us bursts with pride at this skill of ours. we are everything and nothing. anyone and no one.
a part of us screams and tears at our hair and curls up in a tiny ball of rage and grief. tugging at masks that we never cease to exist.
boys like me don't wear masks of steel, we are masks are steel.
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