I wear a mask upon my face. It's not one that many can see, but still it is there. It covers my shame when self despising feelings arise. It reveals pride and strength in place of modesty and weakness. It gives to the world a projection of an illusionary self. A self that exists solely to hide the inner and protect it from the hurt lashed out at it. This mask bleeds for the face beneath. It refuses to yield the secrets held within. Is this mask just a lie? Or is it the truth of the present and the hidden face an unborn desire that struggles to break of its cocoon? Do we not become who we pretend to be, even if it is only for that moment? For it is in that moment that we live. The past is gone and the future yet to be. So then, is that mask not me?
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