My Poetry Dump

Behind the Mask

Sighing as I trudge
Into my cold, lonely room,
I fall onto the bed
Dreading the second my tears bloom.

I cry as my practiced skin falls off,
The perfected girl
I've always been envious of.
It's relieving yet vulnerable,
Uncomfortable yet safe,
But it's itchy and wrong,
As if I'm beginning to chafe.

I unzip the perfect
Image of myself,
The girl unfazed
By beauty, status, or wealth,
The girl I know I'm not
Nor could ever hope to truly be,
The girl that I know deep inside
Just simply isn't me.

I laugh at her,
I laugh at her cracks,
I laugh at the insecurities
She supposedly lacks,
A girl who doesn't cry,
A girl who's never had to say goodbye,
A girl who's perfect even when she doesn't try,
A girl who loves being a social butterfly.

I scratch her off,
I rub and peel
At the skin that's fake,
An uncomfortable mask that could never be real;
I feel dirty and deceitful
In that plastic-like mold,
Inside my self-made doll
I'm sad, lonely, and cold.

I tug off this skin
That weighs me down,
My practiced smile
Turning into a frown.
I get rid of the girl
I'm supposed to be,
The self I project,
The self the world sees.

Unfurled bright feathers
Now being pulled in,
Making me naked and vulnerable
To many a sin
As my tears leak out
And my shell breaks off
And I'm left as my bare self,
Soul muddied and edges rough.