Last entry for National Poetry Month. Written for my creative writing class when I was a student at IUSB back in the 1990s …
I seek solace behind my infinite masks,
Searching for a different persona every day,
Several times a day;
Shy, shrewish (the taming of?), laughing, cruel, dull, interesting, creative …
Caring, rude, cold, shrewd, unfeeling, passionate ( desiring … WHAT?) …
Et cetera …
It never stops.
I hate the hiding of MYSELF to please society.
Whatever happened to the genuine me?
The damn-the-world girl I used to be?
I try to put on my masks as fast as I can,
But I’m too slow
And damned …
“You can’t act like that.”
I’m not an actor.
“You can’t do that.”
I didn’t DO anything!
“You’re gonna change.”
I already have — I don’t even know ME —
A chameleon constantly changing its colors,
Always conforming to belong.
Can’t I be accepted as me?
If I shed my disguises, would I have a face?
Or be anonymous — passed over without a noticeable glance?
It’s all a smokescreen, a cover-up.
Yeah, that’s me (or one of me).
There are so many of me (camouflages) from which to choose.
Halloween is a daily event for me.
Who is this me, anyway?
It’s WE. The masks are waiting.
They’re expecting me (we sorry).
Sorry? Who’s feeling sorry?
No one pities us, but us —
We’re a part of you (equals the whole).
Time to face the world
(Or mask it with illusion).
What will it be today?
Another masquerade (a self within myself?)?
Day Number FOURTEENTHOUSANDEIGHTHUNDREDANDEIGHTEEN,
Specifically simplified: Twenty-two years, six months and four days,
(Take or give several days — your choice).
I wear these transient masks for you.