I'm so tired.
Worn to the marrow.
Of trying everyday.
'Wake up in the morning and the first thing you do,
Is look in the mirror and insist that it's you,
Though you slip on the mask and rearrange your face,
Comb every last rascal hair into place.
Walk through the doorway and smile to the world,
Insure to the rest that your just the same girl,
Even though on the inside you think you might break,
And you stand there, ashamed, of that crucial heartache.
Red, blue and yellow, be who you will,
But under the colours, you're nothing, still
And you want to let the burning eyes release what they made,
But you push on the minutes of this enforced black trade.
Every movement, made to measure, and right,
Every single breath you take, stood in the light,
Even when you sit on your own and work on,
It's under his spotlight your true self has shone.'
I've given up trying.
Everyday the same old mask.
Worn out face looks out tired old eyes.
Fake hair brushed from the face.
False hands touch every life.
And a true love walking out the door.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Obviously I don't know the whole story behind this poem, but I felt I connected in some way with it, or at least with my interpretation of it. I think maybe we both wear masks (I suppose many people do) but they are opposites. Maybe we both have the same fear inside us; that we are weaker than we admit to ourselves; worse people inside than we'd like to be. But we each cover that persona up with different masks: you show the world a happy, lively, outgoing girl; I, however...I guess I try to make myself emotionless and detached in ways. But I don't really know how else to act. Perhaps neither do you. And it's tiring.
I'm going too deep into this and I'm probably way off the mark anyway. Ignore my ramblings. Just thought I'd let you know how this poem spoke to me.
Hope you're doing okay sweetie. It's been awhile.
Love, Ali
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