Untangle

I wear this mask. I wear it well. Every morning I put it on. I put it on like I put mascara on my eyelashes. It is just another commodity to hide behind. My identity remains hidden to all around me. They think they know me, know who I am. They know nothing. Not one thing. They know my mask. They know it well. They know the fabrication my life has become. My heart is a mess. A painted canvas covered in colors I can’t remember applying. It feels like a state of madness. A state I want to escape but somehow, it is inconveniently unavoidable. My life is a routine. The world has made me into just another consumer of her mundane corporate society. Convincing me to buy into all of her lies. I’m not good enough if I’m not perfect. What is perfect? Apparently it’s this mask I wear. Which only sends me full force back to where I began. Spinning faster then ever, I can hardly catch my breath. My heart is crying out, “slow down girl.” That whisper is over-powered by thousands screaming criticism into my ears. If I don’t meet the standards they set for me. I will only fail. Failure is not an option. Walking down the plastic streets, hearts are crying out for substance. For something to take hold of. Anything. I seize items that are temporary. Material that will pass by like a moment fleeting in time. I don’t know who is truly happy, and who, like me, is wearing their mask. Sadness, emptiness, brokenness is twisted in the colors of our eyes. A painted on smile seems enough to distract from any depth of my reality being uncovered. If I present happy, I am happy. Look into my eyes, not for too long. What did you see? Certainly not any authentic part of this mere mortal. I feel the porcelain of this mask is starting to crack. The mask is deteriorating, kind of like my heart. People are going to notice, so I apply another layer of make-up to this beauty queen lifestyle. It isn’t enough to mend the fractures. So I wander home. To what feels like a shelter of protection and I stand yet again in the mirror, staring at the mask. It has taken over and my hands try to pry it off. Fingers bleeding at the force it takes to pull it off. Finally it falls to the floor and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. A tear falls down my cheek and I look at the reflection of a female who has no idea who she is anymore. I’m so tired of forcing a smile even I don’t recognize. Slowly I become untangled. It must be night time. I must be alone. Something tells me I’m not. I feel a presence. It has a secret to tell me. Part of me wants to retreat under the covers of my all too familiar bed. Normally I would. But tonight is different. So I wait, sitting in a war of fear and hope. And the voice speaks. It says to me, “Child. There is no mask you can hide behind. Your mask is just a deception to yourself, and to others. I see what is under your mask and I adore it. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. I always have been. That junk you are choking on. Give it to me. Breathe deep. I am your breath. I am your heart beat. I love you and not your mask. I always will.” The voice turns into a hand holding me up. And for once, I feel safe.