Poem Of Masks

I don't know when this started really.

This feeling of falling.

This feeling of emptiness that started as a dark seed and seemed to grow and grow,

taller and darker,

branching into the paths of my mind,

filling it with shadows.

I don't know how I hid it so well.

The masks I wore with fake smiles and nice, happy eyes.

Some days I chose the mask with the funny personality that always seemed to make me the center of attention.

Some days I decided on the mask with the confident eyes and bright smile.

Most days, though, I chose the invisible mask.

The one that put me in the background and caused the people to look right through me.

Not even acknowledging the person behind it.

I'll admit I had problems.

Trust me, I knew this better than anyone.

On most days I had a schedule, a plan you could say, that went a little like;

wake up,

choose mask of day,

go to school,

go home,

take mask off,

have no life,


Yeah, pretty adventurous life right?

To mix it up, I would sometimes squeeze homework in there right after the have no life part.

Living on the edge, you could say.

Really though, I was... am a very boring poster child.

My parents idolize me and brag about me every chance they get.

Usually this is when I'm standing right next to them,

where I then proceed to blush furiously,

awkwardly smile,

and think to myself 'why did I come to this stupid thing again?

Then I get sucked into a 20 minute conversation about what I want to be when I'm older and what college I want to go to.

Mature mask: On.

My answer is always the same,

the robot of my mind coming out and answering,

'I want to attend the University of California Berkeley and become an Astronomer.'

This is usually said with the face of a mature woman.

My posture strait, my shoulders back, and my chin held high.

Behind that woman, and behind the robot, though, lies an enthusiastic 16 year old girl screaming,

'I want to travel the world.

I want to get put in jail for a day in Austria,

parachute in Thailand,

find true love to a crazy adventurous man in Iceland, and last but not least,

I want to be happy.'

I can say this.

My parents wouldn't judge me, they would be happy in fact.

Their friends wouldn't judge me... well, some of them at least,

but for some strange reason, those words just never reach my lips.

I don't know if it's the mask, hiding the emotions behind it,

or the robot, filing those thoughts in my massive filing cabinet of a brain and naming them 'crazy dreams.'

It could even be that weird shy awkward thing that seems to be burrowed in my personality and every single mask I have.

I don't know.

My mature mask is growing on me.

I am beginning to wear it more often,

but I found out that the more I wear it, the less creative I get.

The more I wear that mask, the more sad and boring I become.

But I thought being mature was a good thing.

I thought that when I finally matured, I would loose these masks and become a young woman.

I would find myself.

I plan on doing great thing.

Every one does right?

But plans can fade into the back of that filling cabinet, only to be replaced and buried by new plans.

I plan to grow up and be successful.

That plan right there covered my plan of being famous,

which covered my plan on becoming the president,

which then covered the whole princess plan every young girl goes through.

So you see,

if we then replace 'I plan' with 'I hope' or 'I dream',

then those hopes and dreams can float around freely and be called upon the day they are needed.

So... I hope that one day, I will do great things and leave my masks behind me.

I hope one day I will find myself.

That is my hope.

My dream.


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