They say be yourself.
I am myself.
My mask is part of me.
I can no longer remove it.
It is my face.
Hiding my soul.
If a removed it I would be...
Known.
I would be raw skinned in agony.
I cannot be seen until I am done.
My mask is me till the me that I am is a me I'm proud of.
I will remain sequestered and alone
until I can clean a filthy face with a filthier rag.
I cannot be seen until I am perfect.
I cannot be perfect until I am seen.
I've tried all my life.
Tried to be perfect unseen.
I have failed.
And failed.
And wept.
And failed again.
And so I hide.
Unseen. Unfinished.
Until another comes to clean my face with a white cloth.
Until another sees behind my mask.
The mask that is me.
Until someone sees not the me that is.
That sees the me that might be.
Could be. Ought to be.
The me that I want to be.
Someone who sees past fake perfection.
Past real flaws.
That sees real perfection.
Real but not yet.
Real but only if.
Only if I will listen.
Only if I will stop kicking and screaming.
Only if I will be humbled.
Only if I can let another clean me.
Then I can be free of my mask.
The mask that is me.
The mask that is not me.
