The Mask
Jack’s mask is a shroud of mystery
He comes off as a dark, brooding menace;
a role he plays well
He acts as if he’s ready to fight anyone
No one knows what lies under his mask
They’re too scared to get close
‘Will he hurt me if I say the wrong thing?’
Is a collective thought among our peers
They don’t know what’s under his mask,
But I do.
Under Jack’s mask is a sensitive, caring boy
He means no harm to anyone
He only wants a friend, someone to talk to
But his mask doesn’t allow that
His mask is made of thorns, sharp and ready to cut
While Jack is made of bright, blooming roses
His mask hides his true self
His happy, gentle side is being consumed
Consumed by his mask
Jack is losing himself, and I can see it
He’s hardly ever himself, even around me
I wish that I could destroy that mask of his
Because at this point, who is he really?
His mask or my Jack?
