It is Just a Mask

just a mask

It’s just a mask.

It’s just a mask you see.

It’s not me.

It’s my façade towards the world,

And it works just fine

Most of the time.

I hate when they say that my personality is only skin deep.

Then I want to rip the mask off and toss it far out to sea.

But then I’m afraid that the face underneath is too different.

Then I’m afraid it’s identical.

Then I’m afraid that the face underneath is just another mask,

And the face beneath it

Is blank.

A Portrait of an Unknown Number of Faces


I never thought the sight of disembodied hair ...

Change (Photo credit: rockygirl05)

The parting of her hair depended on how it settled when she came out from the shower in the morning. Sometimes she would preach passionately on some large subject and when asked about it later, shrug her shoulders. It was ordinary for her to change her clothes more than three times a day.

She was a ray of sunshine one moment and a snowstorm the next. Small children had trouble counting her faces.

The only thing constant about her was change, and she always went where the wind took her.

One thing she never did was complete her stories and her life became one long row of beginnings.

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