Mask

They made me wear a mask when I was younger.

Days went by and a new stitch was added to the mask.

It was starting to fit my face perfectly.

"Do this," they said.

"Do that," they demanded.

"This is wrong," they scolded.

"This is what should be done," they guided.

But did they guide, or did they enforce?

Enforce?

Force.

Just Force.

The opposite of freedom.

Enforce order-- their order.

And soon the mask started to fit my face perfectly.

"It is beautiful," they told me.

Beauty?

Hah, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

And as time went on, it traced my face.

Every angle,

Every curve,

It was taking over me.

"Come, one last stitch."

"It will be perfect now."

I didn't want that perfection.

A knot, a thread, a stitch,

Broken before made permanent

Is still temporary.

No addition, no mask will make me perfect

My beauty, my perfection,

It is all inside me.

It was inside me all along.