My Mask


I was handed a mask at a very young age.
Society offered, and like the rest I took the bait.
“It’ll make the world prettier.” Society promised-
With fingers crossed behind it’s back.
I put on the mask and fell into the conforming trap.
My mask is a little different than yours,
Cracked from years of service, and stained beyond repair
My smile is not freshly painted, but fading and wearing thin.
My mask is cold and too tight.
Uncomfortable to wear
But the strange looks from an unmasked face are just too much to bare,
So I force it on everyday.
For hours on end my mask hides the lies
I act like the mask is truth
I am happy, all is well
While deep inside I’m hurting like Hell.
Most of the time I’m half convinced
That others can see beyond the mask
They look into my dimming eyes
And know all of my secrets
And see all of my scars.
But their masks are veils- they don’t see what shouldn’t be seen
They take, comfort in the falsity of a dying lie,
That all is good, that all is fine.
“I’m fine.” We say, robotic, monotone.
There are no other options to choose from
Nobody wants to talk about the emotions beneath the surface
Nobody wants to see the person behind the mask.
There is just too much comfort in the status quo.
At the end of the day I liberate myself from my mask
And I smooth out my face
It hurts from all the secrets, it hurts from all the lies
From the near suffocation of uttering another “I’m fine”.
I am not fine.
We are not fine.
We will never be free until we destroy our masks,
Which is what I have began to do.
There is power in being exposed
There is strength in vulnerability
Together we will rebel against Society’s oldest lie,
And take back what Society tried to hide:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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