A/N: This is my poem for America, or Alfred F. Jones. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, there is this wonderful thing called a review button and I would love it if you gave me some feedback! Enjoy!

The Mask

My mask is foolproof,

No one knows the truth.

They think they know me,

Everything about me,

But,

They don't.

No one does.

My mask is so good,

It almost fools me.

I'm almost happy,

I'm almost alright,

I'm almost all better,

I'm almost okay,

I'm almost whole,

I'm almost alive.

I don't know who I am anymore,

Am I the nerd at the lab,

The jokester at my friends,

The oblivious idiot at my bosses,

The strong hero at the Meeting,

Or,

The broken boy in my room?

I'm not here anymore,

Only the Mask.

The Mask that shows I'm okay,

Fine,

Happy,

Strong,

Whole,

Alive.

No one knows the truth,

That I'm not alright,

That I'm dying inside,

My broken heart burning,

My arms red with my art,

My stomach full,

When I'm starving.

Every word,

Insult,

Comment,

Whisper,

Rumour,

Gossip,

Hurts me.

It hurts that my "friends,"

My "family,"

Think I'm okay,

When I'm not.

They don't know that,

When I say,

"I'm fine,"

I'm not.

When I lie and say I didn't hear them,

I did,

And it hurt.

200 years,

And no one has guessed.

Am I that good?

Or do they truly not care?

God,

I'm scared,

I don't know who I am anymore.

Is there a me?

Who is Alfred F. Jones?

Who is the Hero?

Who is America?

Who am I?

Am I the Mask?

Because that's all that's left,

I've lied so much,

Pretended for so long,

It's become who I am.

Alfred F. Jones is long dead,

Meet his replacement,

Meet the Mask.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, please favorite or review, I'd love to hear what you thought!