The Nonmask

I wear a mask.
My being, hidden from you,
is also hidden from me.

You see a
thin exterior,
and I see

you looking at
the me
that we both

know is not really me
and not you,
but a stranger to both of us.

I smile, or laugh,
or frown,
or so you say,

but is that me or
the multitude of my faces
seducing me into thinking that is me?

I don’t need another mask
to hide this mask
that is so very hard to remove.