My Mask

I usually don't write poetry about myself, but there's a first time for everything right? A reflection on the mask I, and everyone wears to conceal our pain.

My face is stoic...

My smile is fake...

But you would never know that I am broken,

And suffering from a heartache...

Not because of some girl that left me lying wide awake,

But because of that intelligent snake

Who deceived our mother

And made her think that

She could be on par with our eternal lover,

Who constantly populates this area

With a lasting state of euphoria

Also known as the Holy Ghost...

But it's something that I don't seem to recognize

As I am always caught up in the hysteria of my own life

From the times that I have been considered bona fide

To the times that I have lied,

Somewhere in between I seem to have lost the fact 

That at any given moment, I can die...

And take with me to the grave

All of the agony and pain

That is hidden and disguised by 

The mask that rests upon my face...

This mask that keeps me imprisoned in this place

Where I suffocate in the deep space 

Of my inner thoughts.

Where my fears become reality,

Causing many casualties to things such as:

My Mentality,

My Spirituality,

And yes... Even my Sanity.

And to you, that may be just a formality,

But to me, it's an act of brutality on my spirit

Yet no one can hear it, let alone see it,

Because it's unfit to throw a fit

And spit the essence of pain from my mandible 

Or to perform something so theatrical

From the time of Shakespeare or Ancient Greece...

So I'm left in darkened silence

To contemplate my actions and eventually decease...

Releasing my spirit into a vast abyss

Of jagged bits of comparisons,

That inject into my skin like a syringe full of Heroin

And cause me to rush after something that's always sought,

But shall never be attained... Perfection

Which leads me back to the question:

"When will I have my Resurrection?"

Will it be when I finally come to accept 

The fact that I'm odd?

Or will it be when I take the advice of my ancestors

And call upon my God,

To remove the façade that I've called my home,

To open my eyes to a beautiful world to roam,

And to break this mask that I've worn for so long,

Reviving me with the spirit of the strong

So that I can finally say:

My Mask... is gone...

© Prophet in The Making, 2015

Author's Note