I dress my best when I feel my worst. There is nothing more terrifying to me than someone finding the hint of sorrow beneath my smile. I’ve practiced and practiced and now like an acquired skill, a procedural memory, I can fool even my closest friends. I’ve even gotten to the point where I am able to fool myself. To put a mask over reality, to simply turn my back to it. But I’m not that good, within the day, it cycles back around as the sun setting and rising again. The mask fades. I am left bare except for my insecurities, worries, and fears that lay a claim on my skin. That pungent stench that doesn’t release even with most expensive soap.