I know that
If people saw who I was,
The cuts, burns, bruises, that
Cover every ounce of my face, body,
They wouldn't love me.
That if they saw my tears
That flow like a river and
Never stop, they'd
Laugh and call me "faggot."
I dare not show people the
Freak that I am, so
I wash the parts that hurt as best
I can and put on my masque,
Knowing they would like
"Normal" better than "real."
I wear the Smiling Man, and
All they see is the grin,
The laugh, and hear the
Jokes, and they would laugh
And accept me. I bring
Them all with me, you see.
Change them throughout the day.
Sometimes they see the Smart Man,
Ready with a wise comment, quote
Or Wildean witicism.
Other times, they see the Nice Man,
Able to listen and nod at
Their pain while twisting
With my own. But every once
In a while the pain gets too
Great, but they cannot see the Monster
I know I am, so I slap on the Angry Man
And let him rant and scream
But it's agony, smothering open sores
With a thick coating that no one
Can see behind, and it's
choking me as my tears flood the
Masque. By the time the
Day's over, I rip the foolish
Thing from my head, and allow
Myself to scream, cry, bleed.
Because no one can see the freak
That lives behind the masque.
No one can be repulsed by
The blood that clots, and breaks
To flow again. So I wash
The wounds again, and dress them for
The sleep that never completely comes.
After I wash the masques to wear
There are reasons I'm taking medication. They're called "other people." - Me, displaying my anti-social tendancies