In the summer,
when the air was bright with the scent of nectar and sunshine,
she was called fat.
Her friends stood away from her,
and eyed each other with discomfort so palpable that it hung,
suspended in the Gothic hues of the warm evening sky.
as it was all she could do to hide the
pain that gnawed so badly inside
almost immediately, it was joined by that of her friends.
It was there,
she crafted her first mask;
imbued with betrayal and hurt.
She named it confidence
and put it on
In the fall,
when the carnival left sweet aftertastes
reminiscent of a fragrant dream,
she was called ugly.
The fragile and furled leaves cascaded over the dying summer breeze
and as she closed her eyes,
she wondered to herself,
"Where are my friends?"
When no answer came to her,
she slowly took out a blank mask,
from the hollow expanse inside of her.
She poured her sadness into it,
slathering it with the color of frustration.
She called it "desirable",
and she made it hers
In the winter,
when the land rested under a blanket of snow,
frozen in slumber,
She was called stupid.
Sitting in the brilliant white of a surrounding as pure as her heart had once been,
she was reminded of the halcyon days,
Lingering in the past,
and a ghost in the present.
As of tomorrow,
it all will be forgotten,
except the raw scars hacked into her heart's arteries,
In a way only words can.
She trembled as she molded the her third mask;
with the clay imbued with loneliness.
She would name it 'independence".
Although it was uprooted all too prematurely,
but still she wore it, wishing it was armor.
In the spring,
when pastel blooms burst out of the buds,
and the tender points of the leaves curl out,
she was called disgusting.
Her old friends turned their gazes away,
looking to the floor.
She thought she heard
a small snicker chortled out from one of them.
In the season of life,
a life was taken.
When they found her,
she was curled up on her bed,
with an empty, semi-opened pill bottle
nestling beside her.
After they lifted her up,
they saw that
were three shattered masks resting idly,
over the ridges of the crumpled bed sheets.
And no note.