Dressing up each morning
Is a rather easy task
But what eludes decision
Which face is better?
The kind loving wife
So that you can’t see
Her churning internal strife
Is it the sweet mother’s?
The epitome of giving
As she hides her need
To be human in receiving
Shall I wear the rotund face?
Of the well provided life
So that no one can guess
As the snakes of debt strike
Or wouldn’t it be better
If my face wore a dream
Subtly hiding my weakness
As nightmares make me scream
Will you love me better?
If I donned a poet’s face
And ignored the mundane
Under words full of grace
Am I supposed to look?
Like an angel in disguise
To delude you into ignoring
The devil in my eyes?
These questions are unending
Till the day I finally decide
I have to be just myself
Not the image in your eyes
I am what my beliefs are
And I know the real me
Is how I evolve each day
Not the face you want to see .
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