I am hidden in a place you cannot see. I pull on my cloak of invisibility. Inside, hidden is the real me.
You look at my face and think you know how I feel
Smiling and laughing. You say "she must be healed".
But my face is a mask. True feelings are not revealed.
My face is a lie. My pain I hide. Everything is concealed.
You want to know the truth? Do not look at my face.
But look instead at my hands. My hands are the place
That shows what my face will not. They do not hide or erase
What I feel-tension, sadness, anger, or fear. Truth is embraced
By my hands. If I want them to or not.
Linda DuBos
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