what does it mean to be a stranger?I ponder the reflection in the glass,the face I wear, a veil over my truth,too timid to peel back the layers,this mask has become my second skin,a familiar shroud,obscuring the essence of who I am.
I forget the contours of my own face,the light in my eyes,the warmth I once knew,lost in the facade I’ve crafted,shaped by the expectations of others—a ghost of a self,a portrait painted with borrowed colors.
What would he say, the one beneath?Trapped in a hollow frame,I stand before a stranger,pleading silently for release,to feel beyond the mask,to glimpse the heart that beats within.
Yet here I am,slipping on the guise,wearing a smile that doesn’t fit,feeling the weight of shadows,longing to drop this charade,but fear wraps tight around my heart—what if they don’t like what they see?
So I wear this mask,forbidden and heavy,struggling to unfasten it,even in the solitude of night,it clings to me,my fortress and my prison,my mind a cruel trickster,whispering lies that bind me—if I don’t wear it, would they still care?
I put on the mask,a shield against the world,afraid to reveal the truth,afraid to show the cracks,each time I don’t,a piece of me fades,drifting further from the essence,the self I’ve never fully known.
How do I escape this cycle,this illusion of safety and acceptance,when every smile hides a void?I wear my mask alone,a fragile armor in the dark,wondering if the one behind it can ever emerge,or if I am destined to wander,
a stranger to my own heart.
