Her

People do not see the woman beneath the elaborate facade. They see the dresses as the woman. The hair makes her personality. The world sees what they want. It’s easy for her to be nothing more than a face. The world tells her she’s one thing. Her brain tells her she’s another. Sometimes all the voices join together, making things twisted. It’s easy to lose a child in the crowd. It’s easy to become what others say. The hard part is drowning those voices out so only one remains.

I see the woman beneath the mask. I hear her voice. I see her in the crowd. And she isn’t going anywhere.