Behind Our Mask


I am sick of this.

Aren’t you?

Aren’t you sick of all the hatred

 boiling in your soul?

Aren’t you sick of constant paranoia?

Aren’t you sick of yourself?

Of me?

This artificial persona

that you’ve come to love so dear.


I miss the real you, 

that one who died when I was young, 

leaving a hollow shell of a person behind.

Don’t you miss the real me?


I haven’t shown you her in years.

She doesn’t want to talk.

She doesn’t want to bare her soul

to such a deluded person.

She doesn’t want her hopes trampled on

by someone who will disappoint her.

She is disgusted to know

someone so filled with bitterness,

that the bile that you spew 

blackens her mood and stresses her heart.


So we hide

behind a mask both beauteous and ugly.

A face of a woman who has lost hope in you.

A face that is annoyed.

We have heard your predictions,

and want you to stop wasting our time.

We hate you some days,

when your mood worsens,

and your self pity turns to rage.

We hate how hypocritical you are,

preaching peace for all in one breath

while condemning the different to damnation.

Those you deem inferior to a God who cannot exist.

The God of wrath, cruelty and suffering, 

The god that bears a different name,

than the one of kindness and love.


We are being used more and more,

as each phone call infrequently focuses on

the child you claim to love.

Rather, you ask for the people who have forsaken you.

The people you lashed out at

with slurs, insults and violence.

You are angered that they do not wish to speak,

and demand answers that we do not know.

Do you really love me?

Or do you love how useful I could be to you,

in getting information you shouldn’t be able to know?


She is growing stronger,

Saying the things I am not strong enough to.

Your hatred is feeding her anger

and her voice is growing like a storm,

commanding, silencing as we condemn you endlessly

with thoughts we are not yet strong enough to speak.

You cannot see the real me.

The young lady who loves bold lipstick and frilly dresses.

You cannot see the rainbow that is my soul,

the brightness and the dark.


So please,

 allow me a moment.

I must hang the curtain that obscures myself from you.

Now speak.

I will not listen anymore.



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