Shelled Inhibitions of an Exterior Normalcy

Location

Every aspect of my life has

Always been a splintered crack

between myself and who I wanted to portray. 

It wasn't my fault. 

I just wasn't good enough. 

I was not satisfied with who I was,

so instead of changing who I was,

I tried so desperately to hide behind smoke and mirrors. 

It's funny,

because I hid behind all different kinds of smoke,

But mirrors I could never handle. 

That glass told a ton of truth's 

while I was trying so hard to fabricate my world of lies. 

 

So I said it wasn't my fault,

but that's the Unwhole truth.

I sat for hours crafting the mask I wanted to wear. 

Every single time it ripped, 

I got out the scotch tape and paint,

and continued to makeshift the paradox I was becoming. 

The cool thing was that I didn't care. 

When you don't care about who you are,

it's hard to concern yourself with who you're becoming. 

But every time people would make a grab for the mask,

the repairs made it Uglier. 

And it got meaner. 

 

As time went on, 

The smoke that I was hiding behind got awfully thick. 

It manifested itself in my lungs where

I gasped for breath that didn't come. 

No one could see me. 

But I couldn't see myself either. 

There was too much dusty soot on the mirrors 

For me to even know who I wanted to be. 

But I knew what I was.

Other people were watching me die painfully,

And the mask was peeling.

It was soft at this point, 

and my face was in a brutal sweat.

The skin on my cheeks burned,

and I was desperately trying to rip off the facade

of Who I was. 

But the mask was plastered tight to 

my rotting face

that seemed to Perfectly outline my new persona of walking contradiction. 

 

Today,

I desperately try to keep that mask off of my face. 

The smoke has cleared,

but my mind is often left in the foggy aftermath of 

What I've done to myself.

I keep that torn and painted mask right next to where I sleep,

because let's be honest...

It's always an option. 

If I let honesty slip I'll find myself wasting away 

Once more. 

But the attempt to be someone else will not be so easy this time. 

You can't light a fire and not expect to get ashes. 

But if those ashes help you grow flowers, 

then maybe your mistakes are fixable. 

Either way,

today I must be me. 

And as long as I'm doing the right thing,

Me is just fine. 

 

 

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741