My Obsidian Mask


I am suffocating.


Words I should Not say and should Not feel

bubble up and are shut down by expectations.

Blocked by my obsidian mask.


Harden the fuck up.


Words forced on me at any sign of weakness.

Words shoved down my throat to make me strong.

To make me dominate any situation.

To strengthen my mask.



Words my aunt and cousin should have told themselves

before they're lives were ruined.

Before they're mask's of glass were crushed.


Both men were abusive.

Neither girl had the strength to stand up.

To harden the fuck up and leave before damage was done.


Lucky my aunt had my dad

to protect her.

Her strength was not her own.


My cousin was not so lucky.

She was knocked up at eighteen.

No man,

No brother,

A baby and shame.


I must not be weak like them.

I must not let my mask crack.


My mother's amethyst mask was shattered by love.

She abandoned an education to be with my father.

It worked out for her

and I am grateful,

but the day she lets me make the same decision

is when it's chilly in hell.


So I endure,

as I have for all my years.


But I am suffocating.

I need to breath.



To take my mask of protection off

And break.



Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. 

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