I have worn a mask for so long,
that I feel naked and vulnerable without it.
My smile was plastered on my face;
without it, my sorrow would seep
through the cracks in my skin.
My fears slinked through
my optimism and resolve.
If you look real hard,
you might see something dark
and ugly inside.
It’s not so much that I am hiding,
as it is a means of self-protection.
My insecurities are slivers
just under the surface; I might not
measure up to your expectations.
My heart has begun to mend,
but the scars are still sensitive.
My soul has flown free,
more so in the past few years,
than for my whole life.
By habit, it still wants to
tuck itself away, in safety;
the new-life smell is still scary.
Happiness is hard to trust–
it has fooled me many times.
is more difficult than hanging on.
The mask has been my security blanket.