With pride we declare, we are open books,
We hide nothing, we are no crooks.
Each of our lives hangs on tenterhooks,
Yet still, we choose to sell content looks.
Why do we fear? What holds us back?
Is it the trepidation of censure or flak?
We wish to speak and fill the crack,
Yet still, we choose to drawback.
I have a theory, rather vague,
My perception, it always does plague.
The world is a masquerade party of the highest gage,
We believe wearing a mask comes handy in every age.
It's not by choice but by compulsion,
The apprehension of rejection brings this avulsion.
Where truth hurts, lying is a cushion,
No wonder then that we choose repulsion.
Locking our emotions may be a bane,
But the pain we endure never goes in vain.
The constraint brings with it considerable strain,
But it is the masks we wear that keep us sane.
YOU ARE READING
Alation
PuisiHighest Ranking in Poetry: #7 "The elegy of silence, The wailing of fate, The panache of death, The din of rage. Will quieten itself, Soon enough, someday."
