Masks

Don’t be fooled by me,

Don’t be fooled by the face I wear.

For I wear a thousand masks, masks that I’m afraid to take off,

And some of them are me.

Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,

But don’t be fooled.

For God’s sake, don’t be fooled.

I give the impression that I’m secure.

That all is sunny and unruffled with me.

Within as well as without,

That confidence is my name and coolness is my game:

That the water’s calm and I’m in command

And that I fear no one.

But don’t believe me, please.

My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask.

Beneath this lies no complacence.

Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.

But I hide this. I don’t want anyone to know it.

I panic at the though of weakness and fear at being exposed.

That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

A nonchalant, sophisticated façade,

To help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only salvation.

And I know it.

That is if it’s followed by acceptance, if it’s followed by love.

It’s the only thing that will assure me of what I can’t assure

Myself that I am worth something.

But I don’t tell you this, I don’t dare. I’m afraid to.

I’m afraid your glance will not be followed

by acceptance and love.

I’m afraid you’ll think less of me, that you’ll laugh at me,

and your laugh would kill me.

I’m afraid that deep-down, I’m nothing, that I’m no good

and that you will see all this and reject me.

No. I play my game, my desperate game,

With a façade of assurance without, and a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks. And my life becomes a front.

-Benjamin Sloboda-

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