This self, One for the ball. This face, To recieve a cat call.

This porcelain, One for the dance. These eyes smokey, Made to entrance.

This animal skin, One for justice. These lips curled, For a lovers kiss.

This of bark, One for the gods. These words boiled, Against all odds.

…

Love you Baby 🖤

Hidden Protected Sealed off

A blockade You and me I hide inside myself

I hide my pain I hide my sorrow I hide my tears

You cant see whats wrong You cant hear my tears You cant feel my aching heart

I hide away Sheild myself from the outside world miss every opportunity

I have this net This protection This gaurd

I want to get rid of this But it is hard Would you help me?

Would you help me break down my walls? Would you help me be free? Would you help me take off my mask?

He doesn’t like the way he looks   So he leaves his tummy empty.   He changes the way he does his hair   And acts as if he’s twenty.   He makes all his friends laugh   They never see him crack   But when he’s alone   Behind doors of stone   There’s more behind his mask.   His eyes are deceiving   And so is his act   No one would ever know   That he’s way more abstract.   His mind is a battle field   Where he fights everyday   But he’ll keep up his smile   If it means that you’re okay.

i always spend a lot of time walking through the African art area of museums

the masks stare at me with opaque eyes, hollow, yet confident portraying their users as leaders, but leaders who are afraid of something

the masks hide the leaders from the world as if being removed, as if being a tribe, wasn’t enough

the masks pay homage to spirts and rulers of nature, transforming the wearer

the masks are painted individually to show social status

the masks have a million reasons behind them

intimidate protect serve separate honor remember re-name re-identify

but i was always more fascinated by the idea that people living in small tribes of less than a hundred for their whole life

still need something to hide behind

they still need to pretend that they are something or someone else

My arms sag with the weight of this paper mask I hold up to my face.

The constant disfigurement of my emotions is taking its toll, cent after cent of my soul, lost to the ether.

I am going insane.

Slowly.

But surely.

It eats away at my mind, picking off crumbs here and there, like a starving animal.

Pieces of me are dripping through my fingers like honey, leaving a sticky residue of sickly sweet memories, reminders of what I once was.

This mask will be the end of me, I’m sure. Everyday the paper melds more and more into my skin, and I scream.

But no one hears.

I’ve worn my mask for so long, I have forgotten what lies underneath. Whatever it is, though, can rot like the rest of me, for this mask is all I care to see.

“I’m fine” I say Because no one would care anyway

Just a bunch of laughs and jokes No one needs to know about the pillow that gets soaked

Just a mask of funny To hide me, the ugly

No one will ever figure it out Because they’re too busy trying to make their own clout

And when the mask will finally slip But no notices because they don’t give a flip.

I ask, remove that porcelain mask let your eyes reveal the tears you’ve hidden shallow breaths from your pale lips I wonder, have your emotions been forbidden?

This mask that you hide behind, hang it up and let it dry, you are a beautiful creature

and I promise to stay with you while you cry

“Porcelain. Delicate. Beautiful. That is what you ought to be. Repeat after me.”

The mistress chanted To the group of teens.

“Porcelain. Delicate. Beautiful. That is what we ought to be. That is what we ought to be. That is all we ought to be.”

“Good, good” the mistress said. Nodding her head. Eyes cold and dead. “Now what is she?”

Her fingers pointed to the girl. With the cracked porcelain mask. She’s no porcelain doll. If she fails at her task.

“Shame. Shame. Shame.” The girls chanted in unison. “She’s not porcelain. She’s not delicate. She’s not beautiful.”

The mistress smiled. The kind of smile that was forbidden. The type to remain hidden.

“Good, good” the mistress said. “What happens to girls who forget their mask?” she asked.

“Sent back Shame Shame” The girls chanted. Words filed with blame.

“Good, good. Now let’s fix her.“

The cry’s tainted the halls walls, for years to come.

he told me of a mask, a bright “look at me” mask. he occasionally put it on, until one day he couldn’t look at himself without it on. he didn’t recognize the man looking back at him. he couldn’t bare to be alone with the man behind the act, he wore the mask to bed. he wore it while he brushed his teeth. dinner with the family was protected and controlled by the bright cast of fake happiness he wore across his face. like a badge of honor he proudly displayed something so deep into fantasy it had become his reality. then, the mask got a crack and the eye fell off. and sadness crept where fake joy once covered. the mask eventually came to a crumble, the boy was left with the reflection of himself. what had he become.