the masker and the reveler

stop signs and red lights and one way

streets lined with rows of pruned trees

encased in cement and somehow it all

peels away and the sidewalk swallows us

and somehow we are

trained animals

at this circus

parading around because

you think we’re a joke.

you’re wrong, by the way,

but it was years later when I finally

found that out for myself.

endless years of parading, pretending,

masking, faking, trying, so so hard

Shakespeare’s masker to the reveler

and maybe that would be cool,

really cool and poetic,

but it's not.

that’s the reality of this, of course.

anyone can enjoy the freak show

of a traveling circus,

unless they’re in it.

sometimes words trap us;

not words written, oh no,

those set us free, let us soar

over all the injustice

of this messed up world.

no, spoken words are deadly.

they can suffocate, masquerade,

embellish, pretend, and sometimes

they bring stab wounds,

each syllable another cold metal tip

pressed in my back and sides

until I’m Julius Caesar, but hey, at least

I wasn’t a jerk to my friends.

I think I take a small amount of comfort in that,

that through learning who I wasn’t and

who wasn’t my friend,

I remembered that respect is the answer for

everything.

and I remember all the times I could’ve spoken up,

said something back,

and I grin.

because the sadist in me

is still that trained animal at the circus,

on show and hoping to blend in so I

won’t be part of the freak show.

and it’s just so so funny to me that

they say to be yourself, and judge you

for your differences.

but maybe that’s relative to the bitterness

nestled near one’s heart and the eating away

insecurities can do and I feel like I’m torn,

pulled apart at the seams of my lion costume,

because it’s so tiring to wear a mask,

and sometimes, sometimes, you blink in the mirror

and forget who is behind it.