Lonely Impostors

Sew yourself up another mask.

Go ahead, make it pretty or make it tough.

Make it who you think you need to be.

Make 100 if you want,

you already have a thousand

in the closet of your mind.

Remember the first time you made a mask?

No, not the one you created

with the hip, modern-day seamstress on YouTube.

The one you made when you were a child.

The one you constructed

out of an ingenious stroke of grit

when you realized that who you were

was not what this world,

or your family, wanted.

Belonging is primal so hiding was necessary.

Those first iterations were sloppy veils,

but you have gotten quite adept

over the years.

They fit you well and sometimes

you can’t even tell it’s not you

when you look in the mirror.

But the loneliness you feel

in the pit of your soul

won’t let you get away

with this kind of disguise.  

An entire lifetime of validations

from your fellow actors

can never touch

this place that feels so forsaken.

But that doesn’t stop you from trying.

We are all trying.

Stop trying.

You are dying inside of those masks,

suffocating beneath the weighty expectations

of their intricate designs.

Tell me,

who did you have to be

to be loved as a child?

When did you start to become

a mere illusion of yourself?

When did you begin

to betray your worth

in order to prove

how you are enough?

Where is your face?

Where is your raw and beautiful face?

I want to love you

but I can’t find you.

No matter how reckless and real it gets,

I am hungry to know you

even if your truth is shattering.

Please, will you endure this risk of discovery?

The mask of another lonely impostor

is simply too much to bear.