Who are you when you strip away your house,
like a layer of paint all faded and peeling,
no longer fitting for the skin you're wearing?
Who are you when you take off that smile,
or does the the anti-smudge lipstick gloss
colour define the season you're in?
We layer ourselves with the fabric that conceals
and reveals not too much but it steals our
selves like the swish of insubstantial impressions.
but the inner voice says no. not enough.
the outer voice says maybe. it's enough.
We ask, have we fooled, enough?
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