Jan 7
I walk through streets I know too well,
toward work, toward class, toward the corner store.
The streets swell with bodies,
yet each step echoes hollow.
I am surrounded,
yet invisible –
a shadow in a sea of faces.
I see the same people, day after day – at work, in class, in the aisles of the store. Eyes that whisper softly, "I can’t. I can’t go on." Brown, green, blue – a kaleidoscope of color, but when I look deeper, I see the emptiness, a void they try to hide.
And yet, beneath the emptiness lies life. Fragments of truth glimmer – a whisper of color, the shadow of a wound, the faint echo of a heart still beating.
Faces blur into sameness, contours erased by powders and paints, bronzer sculpting cheekbones, lips drawn into perfect, silent shapes. Each mask a fortress, polished to protect the fragile soul hidden beneath.
Oops. I bump into the woman at the candy stall, buying sweets to steady my nerves. She looks just like the lady who held the door for me 350 kilometers away.
Why does everyone wear the same mask now, painted in shades of sameness, hiding the vibrant chaos beneath?
We were all stars once, radiant constellations, but now we trade our light for artificial gleam, buying beauty, sculpting bodies, fleeing authenticity as if it were a flame too bright to bear.
Tell me – when did we begin to fear our own reflection? When did the truth of who we are become something to conceal?
Let your mask crumble. Let it fall like autumn leaves, revealing the branches of who you are. Have you ever wondered – if you showed the world the raw, unpolished beauty of your scars, would the world not offer you its own?
I see the same people, day after day – at work, in class, in the aisles of the store. Eyes that whisper softly, "I can’t. I can’t go on." Brown, green, blue – a kaleidoscope of color, but when I look deeper, I see the emptiness, a void they try to hide.
And yet, beneath the emptiness lies life. Fragments of truth glimmer – a whisper of color, the shadow of a wound, the faint echo of a heart still beating.
Faces blur into sameness, contours erased by powders and paints, bronzer sculpting cheekbones, lips drawn into perfect, silent shapes. Each mask a fortress, polished to protect the fragile soul hidden beneath.
Oops. I bump into the woman at the candy stall, buying sweets to steady my nerves. She looks just like the lady who held the door for me 350 kilometers away.
Why does everyone wear the same mask now, painted in shades of sameness, hiding the vibrant chaos beneath?
We were all stars once, radiant constellations, but now we trade our light for artificial gleam, buying beauty, sculpting bodies, fleeing authenticity as if it were a flame too bright to bear.
Tell me – when did we begin to fear our own reflection? When did the truth of who we are become something to conceal?
Let your mask crumble. Let it fall like autumn leaves, revealing the branches of who you are. Have you ever wondered – if you showed the world the raw, unpolished beauty of your scars, would the world not offer you its own?
