Mask,

Life hitherto existed as a masquerade,

Where it is completely acceptable to put on a facade,

Where flaunting a synthetic self is embraced with abnormal passion,

Where the mask is all that we know,

Yet what lies below?

Truth.

Self,

What I have hidden,

What no one has seen but my kin,

What sinful compulsions I have trapped within,

My destructive nature claws at the fraudulent shell,

Or is that just my soul aching to be set free?

Perhaps I've missed what is below unseen,

Identity.

Genuine,

Stripped down to my true being,

Out pours compassion and personability,

Whilst it demands of every fiber within to release my counterfeit image,

Out flow the characteristics and qualities of the heart,

Where the real self has been tucked away,

Dying to show the

Reality.

Filter-less,

My appearance is flawed yet without flaw,

My nature is no longer like that of a clone created by this society,

The bona fide man pokes his head above the surface for a breath of fresh cl(air)ity,

The old self has been thrown away and is dead,

While truth lives on in my being,

I am free to be myself,

Redeemed and true,

Naked.