Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2015
Everyone has an infinite number of faces.
Each one is a different person,
Around different people.
And each is ever-changing.
But there is one that we all have,
at the very core of who we are.
This inner-most face,
this pure facade,
shows our true selves.
It is made up of our tragedies,
and our hopes and dreams.
It is a reflection of the consequences of life.
This is where our terrible demons hide,
and next to them our greatest ambitions.
The good and the bad,
existing together in us,
because without one,
the other cannot exist.
And so we repress our inner selves,
to hide the demons and desires,
but limit our passions.
So we put on a new mask,
and hope that can satisfy,
our hunger for a fulfilling life.
Only to be let down again,
and pushed to into a new skin,
where you can't say what you want to,
because that's not who you are to others.
And you can't look into the mirror,
without seeing a stranger,
dressed in strange clothes,
who talks strange,
and moves strange,
like a puppet on strings,
being control by our costumes,
that give us acceptance in society.
So puppet master,
mask makers,
costume weaver,
create the new person that society wants,
and toss away the real me,
all because of the dark secrets I can't tell.
Ben McDermott
Written by
Ben McDermott  Kansas City
(Kansas City)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems