The Mask

When did it start?

When...oh, when did everything begin?

I can’t remember!

All I recall is going to school, first day,

Short and happy.

Ready, ready for friends.

Funny! It’s funny because I got nothing! Not a friend...

Nor a seated partner!

By the age of 4, I didn’t know the beginning of the definition for “Friend.”

“Friend,” what is it?

All I knew was...was that my skin, kiss by a demon, because...their folks won’t forget race.

Never had a friend until seven.

Seven years of torture, isolation...pain.

A heart gasping for compassion,

Because mommy and daddy fight.

Daddy like to kiss glass bottles to bed, not I or my sister.

Daddy comes home late.

Daddy isn’t my daddy, he is my mother's demon!

Daddy wants more women!

Daddy...Daddy likes to hit mommy...

For this we move...far, far away.

So, so the yelps of mother’s pains cannot be heard.

I change, change to a book-worm who has no voice.

That’s when it’s made...

My mask: a smile or laughter for pain — a bully.

I finally got friends but from violence.

Mommy and “daddy” get married, it’s like a circus with crying clowns.

I try to smile as dad forces us to swallow the truth.

By age 13...I’m told my true father didn’t want me.

I smile! Smile to mom, sister, “friends” and — society.

Truly, I want to scream: “Why?”

Throw things, destroy the world, curse with a snake’s tongue — but the mask says: no...just...just smile.

So, I do.

By school I learned my mask perfectly.

You smile even when sad,

Giggle to hide tears.

Friends! Friends...are nothing but mannequins.

You tell no one the truth.

Truth equals death.

Snap! It crumbled...crumbled like an earthquake on cement.

I spoke to someone and everything broke.

Mom left. Dad turns to booze. Sister to cuts. I to depression.

I want to die, but I have barely lived.

The mask is still strong...

The happy people are the saddest,

Strongest the weakest,

Loudest the quietest,

Appear composed but shattered.

Most depressed, the happiest.

I hate people — no,

I hate the mask — no,

I hate him — no,

I hate her — no,

I hate myself.

So, do you really know me?

Do you really know me?

Or...the mask?