The Creation of the Mask
We aren't born with insecurity,
But over time we lose our pride
and with it our perfect purity
when told we've something to hide.
We take a being so unique
And demand from it conformity,
but with each meticulous critique
we turn beauty to deformity.
I can't compare to those I see,
the symbols of perfection,
so I shall change each part of me
beyond my recollection.
A mask of makeup and a forced smile
shall serve as my disguise.
And in the mirror, all the while,
a stranger bears my eyes.
Without my guise I'm left to fear
their unfeeling criticisms.
The wicked whispers that I hear
strengthen my cynicism.
I resent the mask I wear,
suffocating and cosmetic,
but the whispers are too much to bear
in a world so apathetic.