All my life I’ve been hiding

Behind a face that’s not my own.

4.0

Perfect

The face of genius

Who never trips or stumbles because

She flies.

Plopped upon a pedestal

But pinned under a microscope.

And I dread the moment

When they finally see through my mask

And find I don’t have wings.

 

Yet I want them to stare

So I can give up the masquerade

And find that I am free.

 

But I can’t.

 

It would be my triumph, but

It would be my destruction.

Because on that day,

When the mask slips,

It will be because

I tr

ipped

And felt my body slam against

The unforgiving ground,

And wilted in the burning glare

Of unbelieving stares.

And when my mask smashes in the dirt,

What if I break with it?

 

So the curtain rises once again

And I don the porcelain mask

That chains me to my fear.

And I go through the motions

And I play the part

And I live another day.

But something inside my soul still stirs

And longs to spread its wings

And somehow dares to hope:

Maybe there is someone

Who will save me from my chains

And pick up the pieces of my broken heart.

And maybe there is someone

Who will see straight through my smile

And love me still.

 

And so I watch the curtain rise

And turn my eyes to face the sun

And brave another day;

Because somewhere,

Somehow,

Beneath the porcelain smile,

My heart beats still.