Masked

As you stare in the mirror, you recite the lyrics of your song over and over again.
You put on your foundation and meticulously put each eyelash on perfectly.
Applied and reapplied your lipstick a dozen times until it was just right.
Spent 15 minutes trying to get that one curl in its rightful place.
You slide into that perfect dress that hides those, not so perfect sections but accentuates those banging areas.
You top it off with the right pair of pumps that elevate you close to how you feel about yourself at that moment.
You finish and say to yourself, “Perfect!”
As you wait backstage your heart races in anticipation of your performance.
Then they call your name and you then walk on stage to cheers and ovations.
All of your relentless hours of rehearsing take over.
You pour everything you have into your performance but the crowd’s cheers push you on even further in this reciprocated interaction.
You are the queen of the night.
As you finish your last selection, the thunderous applause uplifts and energizes your sense of accomplishment.
You rush backstage and again stare in the mirror.
This time you deconstruct the hours of work that you put into making yourself up only to reveal your true physical appearance; a man. Reality steps in.
As you pack up your bags and walk out of the club you pass those people who just adorned you with cheers and admiration.
Now, they won’t look twice at you as you are not “man” enough for them.
Such irony.
As you travel home, the fear of ignorant homophobes cause you to hail a cab.
As you head home alone to your over- cramped, low rent apartment you already start thinking about your next performance.
After a while you reach into your pocket and pull out your nights’ earnings.
5… 6… 7…. 10 ….14… 15…. 25 …. 26….. 27…. $27
Just as you finish you pull up to your apartment, the cab fare was $16.35