Oh masks.
The everyday armour in the form of a stick of foundation,
or a killer wing,
thickly rimmed glasses,
or a super long fringe,
a plastic smile and
a careful frown.
Practiced in the mirror
until it's perfect;
for we are all actors,
but the world is not a stage:
it's a prison.
And until you
make yourself believe,
your mask will remain,
and the show still will play.
Your mask is translucent
but you've painted the other side.
Armour.
{I wish you knew you could shed your armour for me.}
And yet at the same time,
I never did trust you,
Not one bit.
I'll tell myself
you can tell me
a n y t h i n g;
but the feeling is mutual.
Is it using if
I'm using you too?
Is it losing if
I'm still talking to you?
But I'm not using you and,
you're not losing you.
{and I wish I knew I could shed my armour for you.}
I'm scared we're not
as close as we thought,
I'm scared the love
we share's only taught.
How much is real,
when the rule is to lie?
How much is real,
if I put it online?
Is this straight from the heart,
or coated in a
{mask} •
_______________________________
#doitfortherhyme
Also. No nothing. (((((Press send)))))0k
YOU ARE READING
not the truth
Poesía•a piece of my soul bundled in lies and rhymes and late night tears and fears and thoughts and rarely the truth•
