Masks and costumes are everywhere
They're in plays and dances adding effects to the scenes they modestly create
The glittering sheen of plastic mounted on our face disguising the emotions that run through our veins drumming in your heart
The tearing pain in our chest ripping it's way through our ribs.
we grit our teeth and plaster the mask to our faces because you know that no one wants to hear us complain
People voice the false opinion to be open and express how we feel
We know we shouldn't we see in their eyes the answer they want to hear
As we open our lips anyway to respond with the truth our tongue begging to speak with veracity while the darkness forces our teeth to bite down demanding you tongue and lips to form these damned words -I'm good, I'm fine-
our heart sinks deeper every time we voice these lies, every time we apply our mask and costume telling the world -I'm good, I'm fine-
But we're not, we're drowning in the dark breathing in negativity. The shadowy hand of depression squeezing the hope and fight out of our already weak limbs
No one wants to see a damaged person, they want you to put on you ensemble and act the part they think you fit.
we have no choice but to curl our hair to wrap around their expectation.
Our mask, our masks is their saving grace.
They don't want to hear our problems
They don't want to help
They don't want to see our suffering
They just want the satisfaction of asking to prove what chivalrous people they are
They claim to have opened a door to these conversations, but there is no door. It's just a mural painted onto a brick wall, we foolishly run into every time we're asked if we're ok.
As our emotions soothe their bruised heads, we wonder what went wrong, why we are shut out and shut up.
We remember our scripts
The scripts of our lives telling us who we can and can't be,
The scripts explaining the expectations of our characters, always happy, hopeful, healthy. Not abandon alone and afraid
Our characters that's fit the discluding role of society.
But we can't, we can never fit these roles, or these tight clothes. Our feet to large for these shoes left for us. Our stomached to skinny to big, our thighs to small or too large.
Why aren't we good enough. These thoughts ricochet in our head driving razor blades into our self esteem, sending us plummeting into the home of the dark, leaving us abandoned to the cruel forthcoming of reality.
That's it's impossible, these figures we stride to become, are pixelated and painted. The real photo only bare canvas for the artists to display their image of perfection.
We stumble through social media bearing wounds of judgement and rumors. Our wounds cut deep depriving the ability to love ourselves. We're taught to hate our flaws. We learn to try and erase out imperfections, smearing onto our hearts.
Our hearts growing heavier, suffocating, bleeding with bitterness towards beauty
The dictators apply filters to our eyes distorting the image of ourselves, instead of seeing ourselves we see a hideous monster that should never be seen
We whisper into our own ears discouraging words -your ugly, your not good enough, you're ugly you're not good enough-
Were weighed down by judgement and cruel comments, we take pride in the horrible names we cut each other with.
We slice at each other self esteem stealing broken pieces in hope it'll fill our own.
Our own void sharpening our hatred for ourselves till it pierces our egos, deflating it with it sucking away our will to live, till we're clinging to life by our fingernails
We live with that everyday:
the masks
The expectations
The cruelty
The judgment
The shame
We collect the broken pieces of ourselves hiding behind our costumes and mask, continue acting in the play that is our life.
