My shoes squeak, my

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My shoes squeak, my hair rustles, and my eyes wander. But I am neither heard, felt, nor seen.

Students with satisfied smiles and amused eyes scramble before me, hustling to their next class.

I keep walking forward. A straight line that makes no dent in the system.

They don’t hear me. They don’t feel me. They don’t see me.

I am invisible. I am hidden behind a clay mask embroidered with a cheeky, Cheshire smile.

This is what they hear. This is what they feel. And this is what they see.

Each day. Five days. Seven hours. This is what I am.

A small, malnourished soul hiding behind a heavy terra cotta mold.

It speaks for me. It acts for me. It sees for me.

Each night I hurl the mask to the wall, but it does not break. It only chips a little bit…tiny tid-bits that fall like dust to the floor.

I sulk alone, trying to piece my broken heart back together with scotch tape, and scotch.

I look to the sun and still I feel no warmth.

I follow the moon and still I have no guidance.

This mask is a two-way blockade.

While it hides me from the world, it hides the world from me.

If only I could crack this clay open, split it in two and watch it fall beneath my feet.

Then I could turn my gaze to the stars and truly feel their light.

Then I could race to where the ocean kisses the land and finally breathe.

I could smile my own Cheshire cat smile, knowing that there are no lies here.

I am truth and I thrive.

I am not a clay mask. I am flesh and blood.

I pulse with life and sunlight.

I lead with strength and moonlight.

And suddenly, my once hard, crusty, terra cotta mask turns is nothing but a flimsy prop. A cardboard knick-knack.

This is me, this is who I am!

I am not a clay mask. I am flesh and blood.

I pulse with life and sunlight.

I lead with strength and moonlight.

 

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! 

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