Life is a masquerade. So many people wear masks. So many have learned how to perfect the dance so no one knows they are just going through the mostions. the dance is passionless. its fake. the one dancing is so insecure. they look at the other dancers. they see higher jumpers, prettier masks, better costumes, perfect fakeness. why is it they are compare masks?
The mask is my shield, my wall, my veil
hiding insecurity and knowing at some point, i'll fail
my face stained with streaks of mascara, and make-up art
im pushing away the only one who can awaken this complacent heart
a sea of masks going through the motions of the masquerade
perfection of dance that flows
no one even knows
my heart cries out
for removal of fear and doubt
faces spin, colors blend
when will this song ever end?
There is a place of safety where masks are broken.
ReplyDeleteIt is often painful, the kind of pain you know you need.
Pain you crave.
The mask cuts and tears as it is pulled away.
Underneath, there is something real.
Something vulnerable.
Soft. Flesh. Real.
Where is this place?
Do I truly want to find it?
I'm frightened.
My mask is safe,
but it suffocates me.
It breaks. Begins to tear.
I pull it off, bleeding.
My face aches.
My world stops spinning.
I've found love.
And I can dance again.