Without My Mask

What am I without my mask,

My rod, my scepter, my queenly throne?

I do not know, why don't we ask

The great unknown?

I lived my days behind a funhouse mirror

For so long I can no longer see

If my image has grown queerer

From this personality of an absentee.

But how do I define myself?

What am I when it's stripped away?

Am I bold and brave as the day

Or do I sit quietly on my own shelf?

I am not loud, nor am I proud

I know that much at least.

So do I sit quietly, a tamed beast?

No, I do not.

I may be quiet,

But do not think me tame.

You may not be able to spy it

But I am actually aflame

With a burning inner passon

I built in my own fashion.

Behind my mask I am me

And me I shall remain

After all where would I be

If I could not lay that claim?

So tell me what am I?