A mask that fits to well
There I was
23 years old standing in the doorway of my childhood home
My mother, she ran to me and spoke faster than I knew she could
Are you hungry? How’s the job? How long are you staying? Are you in love?
Are you okay?
And in the barrage of questions, I got stuck on the last
You see I’ve been pretending
Pretending so long for a while I forgot that I wasn’t
I wore my façade of a perfect life so well
The mask became my skin
There were days if felt great
But then came days where I had to wear the mask that wouldn’t fit
And I felt caged beneath it
I pushed every dark day beneath a broken smile
And began to move so quickly I didn’t have time to think
To think about everything I let the water wash away every morning down the drain
If I stopped for just one second it would crash down like a wave
So I ran.
I ran from the chaos inside my own soul
I ran from the people that think they know
And that worked
For a while.
I could laugh and smile
I could be okay
For a while.
But now I am standing in the doorway of my childhood home
And I can feel myself drowning
But I straighten my mask
And I offer to cook
And I speak of the promotion she didn’t know I took
I stay for the weekend and tell stories of the boy back home
But I still don’t know if
I am pretending.
about the writer
The Scribe- Victo...
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