My Mask

Every morning I used to look in the mirror and get in to confusion on what mask should be in my face for that day. Since I don’t wanna reveal my feelings as it is, I look up for a mask that conceals the true myself inside me. Often this is difficult. My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is a mask. Beneath resides the real me in confusion, in fear, in loneliness. I panic at the thought of my weakness and frantically create a mask to hide behind, to shield me. I don’t dare sharing about this. So, I play my game, my desperate game, with a fascia of assurance without, and a trembling child within. So begins the parade of masks each and every day. I choose my mask so carefully, to cover the face that was given to me, the one that was meant for only my eyes to see.


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