Cypress Creek Highschool
9815 Grant Rd.
United States
29° 57' 59.3676" N, 95° 33' 55.8468" W

Heart pumping as I race
through the halls, avoiding people,
gazes, questions. Unable to
release myself from this prison. Holding
back, caring not of the things I want to say,
need to say, have to say.

My friends,
as one might call them,
laugh and mock, all the while smirking
at the embarrassment of my aura as
I sit in the corner of the party, confused
why I even came, debating
what my next move will be in the battle
of perception. Should I stand
and dance to the hip-hop phase,
or do I watch them be themselves.
An occasional Sympathy trying
to break my shell, but no,
it won’t work. She’ll walk
away defeated, though not as
defeated as I, having my
chance and boiling it in the sea
of sound.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s
like, being popular, secure,
invincible. What do they think of me?
Handsome with a social problem? Or a wanna
-be that watches, acts, and constantly
lies to himself as he looks over
his shoulder for approval that
he will never see.

Parents don’t get it. They
say they do but they don’t. We are
encompassed by a society that
claims to be a fairy tale.
“We’ve been there,”
“Talk to someone.”
“Everything will be fine,”
But everything won’t be fine,
not with the killers, predators, racists,
terrorists, manipulators, and
politicians. Our parents are the worst of them
and the best of them. They get you to trust
and love them to the point
where you can’t stay mad at them,
for they give you that approval you
search for, though as you receive it, you
feel the same, because it’s not
the same.

As I question myself, I begin to
wonder what has caused me
to take up uniform and
be the poetic cliché. One who puts on a
mask for everyone else to see. Hiding himself
in every situation possible till eventually
he is hiding from himself…But am I?
I cannot fathom this paradox
because I have forgotten the definition of
“self.” A possibility exists, however, in which
I cannot help but think that maybe I’m being
melodramatic, but, thoughts like these
only temper my mask of steel. My faded
persona knocks at the backdoor of my
snap-back hat. Pleading for me to
take it off, and part my hair at the cowlick,
even if the those damned kids think
it makes me look bald.

One of these days, I am going to find one
who awes me so. Showing me
that even someone so beautiful and smart can
have a good side too. She will give me the cure and
pull back my hood. Kindly lay her kiss upon
my cheek and smile for all to see.
Filling my cup with happiness, I will no longer
have the subconscious urge to please
others. They can go and rule their own lives,
because this girl has broken my mask,
and not my heart. She possesses the power,
revealing a sort of Phantom Of The Opera truth
I can finally accept, I’ve
left life’s masquerade.



I wrote this poem for my school's creative writing magazine. I wanted to let kids know that they are not alone, that they aren't the only ones who fear what other people think. When students at my school saw this, even the popular ones, they said, "I thought I was the only one who thought like this." When they told me this I was just wowed because that is exactly what I wanted to share with people.


Wrote this for my School's Creative Writing Magazine to let kids know that they are not alone.

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