Masks

Everyone wears masks to hide the real them

Hiding insecurities, uncertainties vulnerabilities.

The real person hides behind. The real me is weak, unsure, scared, lost, confused.

Why? Why hide behind a fake smile, and jovial laugh to cover up the pain.

“How’s it going today?”

I think, “I’m lost. I have no purpose. I have no passion. I have no direction. I’m miserable just existing and I want to live.” I say, “I can’t complain.”

Why?! Why can’t I complain when I’m not okay? Why don’t I say anything? I have no creative input towards a solution, so I stuff it deeper than Socrates.

Masks. Part me. The me I used to be. The me I wish I was. Why do I have to be tough, stoic and strong? Why do I feel less of a man when I feel weak, or show emotion? Why can’t I cry?

I’m frustrated because I’ve lived for so long behind a mask…maybe that’s all I’m supposed to be.