Post by zzeltootz on Sept 13, 2007 16:07:22 GMT 7
The masks we wear
Hide who we are
And cover the face
We see in the mirror,
Staring back at us,
Bewildered and yet . . .
Expressionless.
But our reflection
Does not hold the one all others
Really see;
We, standing before
Our own selves,
Are split in two:
The one who looks,
And the one who sees.
That face before you,
Sunken in and haggard,
Beholds the eyes
That cannot be shielded away
From the world.
We see others from one view,
The one that is shallow
And two-dimensional,
The one without discovery,
With judgment,
And void of honest perception.
The hood on the side of the road,
Hidden beneath a cloak of black aggression,
Appears to be a criminal.
Why question this view?
Why ask yourself whether
This person is really not worth
Another glance?
Because you think there is no time
To stop and burn through
The disguise of the man,
Engulfed in false reality
And the detrimental effects
Of prejudice?
There is no time to see past the mask.
You are too busy gluing on your own.
But what about masks of despair?
The plastic, almost unbreakable facade
Of anger and disappointment,
When really those who obscure
The realities of their own life
Are ignorant to the pain
That others feel,
And they think that it is . . .
Cool--or trendy--
To dye, to pierce, to tattoo,
To cut,
And to simulate rage,
Because they want people to see
That they hurt as much as the rest of the world,
And that they are crying out
For help that they need but cannot find.
They do feel pain,
But not always as a result of abuse,
Divorced parents,
Or drugs--
Sometimes it is because
Beneath the mask,
The eyes are stabbing themselves,
The scream pierces through
Without reason,
And the victim’s brain
Is suffocating itself without oxygen.
My mask . . .
Nearly indescribable,
Because I have not
Seen my reflection
In so long.
In recollection,
There is a smile on the mask,
Used so much
In times of feigned contentment,
That the teeth are yellowing,
And the lips are fading.
Why must I conceal
What I feel . . . ?
Because I try to create happiness
Out of thin air.
One thing about disguises,
They make people feel . . .
Invincible--
That they can do anything
Because they are not themselves.
They can dream up an alternate reality
Like the ones in which they submerge their hopes,
Within the pages of the fictitious
But living, breathing tale.
People shielding their true selves from the world
Can finally be secure
All because of what other people think of them,
And how the wearer of the mask allows themselves
To be portrayed to the unseeing eyes
Of the indifferent passerby.
