I hate how you would give me painted masks for me to wear as a gift of your love.

How you said that if I wore them I would show you love that only comes from above.

How you said it was for the better but at the end it wasn't enough for you to stay.

And slowly and surely you began to fade away.

You said I had to change, and baby, if it was for you, I would.

Always for you my love, I thought to myself, I should.

And I began to mold myself into fitting your criteria.

But I guess that led to our demise and my hysteria.

And I began to think when I'm left all alone.

If it was me or you that burned down our sacred home.

And I try to take off the masks that has melted onto my face.

And then I realized your masks were never replaced.

And, god, I felt so fucking dumb for letting you do this to me.

But it's okay, because i still love you, can't you see?

And slowly I'm chipping away your painted masks.

But it's so hard to move when you've been drowning in the bottom of a flask.

But I'm sure you don't understand, besides, your mask was easily ridden.

And we become a love that is painfully forbidden.

It was always for you, my love, but never for me, and so...

I hope you know that I still love you, and you easily let that go.

A poem for my ex, who changed me in order to love him but never did the same for me.
Alec Jul 15

Perhaps the reason of why we hide
Behind our many masks
Comes more from the inside
The hidden does not speak
The hidden does not feel
A mask can be bent and broken
Take the blunt force of your opponent
Meanwhile you are safe
Watching, waiting, just to see
Is it safe to come out,
Or will they hurt me?

R Miller Jul 12

I wear this costume you
And recite the script you
I shove myself aside
to live in the shadows of
this person you created.
I live this lie daily.
With no breaks in character.
Have I pleased you yet?
Are you satisfied with
my performance?
Now that I've changed myself
for your enjoyment,
do you love me?
Because I'm fucking

AD Fox Spirit Jun 23

They play with paints,
They play with the new skins,
The naughty children didn't listen.

Their now cutting away at the skin,
Hoping to take away something,
And replace it with something fresher and new;
Something better.

The want to be "Prettier",
More "Interesting and funny,"
They don't wish to be made fun of, they want to be loved.

They hum out dark tunes that sing out the pleas for help,
No one knows that everything is painted one.

The children are lost, scared and confused.
They don't know, "Who are we," They wonder silently,
Hoping they could ask but they know better then to speak to loud.

They can't see the damage,
So they keep putting innocent child's paint on their raw skin,
And washing it away and re-painting for something better:
A good, polite child that everyone wants.

Each time one washes away another is put on.

They children are addicted,
But this addiction is as dangerous as the drugs.

Its a crime, but their is no law against hurting your self-esteem.

Painted masks that cover the low self-esteem.
That doesn't show all the scars that won't heal,
But simply manifest into something bigger.

The young children that learn to put on masks,
Have now forgotten themselves.

Chan S Jun 22

See, breath comes so easily to us.
Yet, Trust?
Not so much.
We're always talking about the surface things-
And never the things,
the things that make us feel-alive    
the things that make us stick around
the things that make us wanna thrive
and hit the ground -running-
Toward the Truth!
Toward the beauty of it!
Toward the ugly!
Toward the feelings that make us feel all crumby!
But it's the truth!
What's so bad about the truth?!
It may hurt.
It may scare you.
But what's life without fear and pain
If not to obtain a wealth in knowledgeable gain
Take off the masks, they're suffocating the love and compassionate from our very lungs
That we need to

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.

He was as lonesome as a cemetery.
And far more empty than any barren field.

In your time nobody will recognize your genius till its flame has long since been extinguished.

Nobody sought out to be a legend they simply put one foot in front of the other in hopes just to get through as fucked as me or you.

He never knew exceptance and most thought him a outcast.
That bastard in the mirror was a stranger to even I.

melli7 May 11

I'm good, not
bad not in
need of a thing no
thank you no really I am
good look at my smile with
the teeth showing dimples in
attendance so what if my eyes are
absent see me
be good because I am absolutely
angelic happy to be
so leave
you can go now

melli7 May 11

I'm good, not
bad not in
need of a thing no
thank you no really I am
good look at my smile with
the teeth showing dimples in
attendance so what if my eyes are
absent see me
be good because I am absolutely
angelic happy to be
so leave
you can go now

I see it.
           See through it.
              See far beyond it.
                   I see it.
          The mask in which you wear when you are around them
                         The people who pretend to be there for you
The ones you can “Talk to”
            But when you try you can’t.
You Can’t talk
          You Can’t Confide
        You Can’t let Go.
       I see it.
                           The mask you secretly desire to remove
                       The mask you have been wearing for so long,
                           you can’t tell if it even is a mask anymore
                          You can’t tell if it is the real you or not.
                You Can’t tell.
                   You Don’t Know
                       You Still Care
                          I see it.
                          There are people around who are like you.
People who pretend and live behind masks they create for themselves    
                                               so others don’t see
        People who can help
    People you can trust in
                  People who want to speak
            These people are numbered in few
I see it.
I see it.
      Why Don’t You?

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