Shelled Inhibitions of an Exterior Normalcy


Every aspect of my life has

Always been a splintered crack

between myself and who I wanted to portray. 

It wasn't my fault. 

I just wasn't good enough. 

I was not satisfied with who I was,

so instead of changing who I was,

I tried so desperately to hide behind smoke and mirrors. 

It's funny,

because I hid behind all different kinds of smoke,

But mirrors I could never handle. 

That glass told a ton of truth's 

while I was trying so hard to fabricate my world of lies. 


So I said it wasn't my fault,

but that's the Unwhole truth.

I sat for hours crafting the mask I wanted to wear. 

Every single time it ripped, 

I got out the scotch tape and paint,

and continued to makeshift the paradox I was becoming. 

The cool thing was that I didn't care. 

When you don't care about who you are,

it's hard to concern yourself with who you're becoming. 

But every time people would make a grab for the mask,

the repairs made it Uglier. 

And it got meaner. 


As time went on, 

The smoke that I was hiding behind got awfully thick. 

It manifested itself in my lungs where

I gasped for breath that didn't come. 

No one could see me. 

But I couldn't see myself either. 

There was too much dusty soot on the mirrors 

For me to even know who I wanted to be. 

But I knew what I was.

Other people were watching me die painfully,

And the mask was peeling.

It was soft at this point, 

and my face was in a brutal sweat.

The skin on my cheeks burned,

and I was desperately trying to rip off the facade

of Who I was. 

But the mask was plastered tight to 

my rotting face

that seemed to Perfectly outline my new persona of walking contradiction. 



I desperately try to keep that mask off of my face. 

The smoke has cleared,

but my mind is often left in the foggy aftermath of 

What I've done to myself.

I keep that torn and painted mask right next to where I sleep,

because let's be honest...

It's always an option. 

If I let honesty slip I'll find myself wasting away 

Once more. 

But the attempt to be someone else will not be so easy this time. 

You can't light a fire and not expect to get ashes. 

But if those ashes help you grow flowers, 

then maybe your mistakes are fixable. 

Either way,

today I must be me. 

And as long as I'm doing the right thing,

Me is just fine. 





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