It’s my day at last
To put on a mask
And be someone else.
But who shall I choose.

“The Scream” has been done
The President too
The Ewoks and Yoda
Have used up their moment.

Shall I be avenging
Or Little Bo Peep
Shall I become Gaga
Or Atilla the ***

I’d like to be pretty-
Liz Taylor perhaps
But her day is over
So why not Beyonce.

Pretty gets boring
Just ask Taylor Swift
Maybe I’d rather
Be someone less fancy

Someone who cries
For mistreated dogs
And beautiful sunsets
And other folks love

Someone who laughs
When irony rules
And giggles when
Everything turns upside down

Who is that person
And where is the mask
If I cannot buy it
I’ll just go as me.
        ljm

-on explanations in the bathroom

Here I am, with all my crap,
a stupid looser,
swept beside, off the map.

And you tell me I should behave...
I am no *****,
it's just, you know, I am a ****** slave.

It's alcohol, it's coke;
it's pride, it's shame, it's greed;
you name it,
all that stuff that you don't need.

I'm glad you're perfect, nice and clean,
it's good to see you, though you're mean.
Myself, I'm different, to me that's clear:
I only watch myself from the rear.

Her physical body wants to hide
I felt her pain as she cried

Her story will never be revealed
For she has not yet healed

She was a mirror of my subconscious fears
Her heart was full of broken gears

She made me feel weak
Yet she was the geek

For she belittled my attractions towards her
Her parents must have caused her such blur

To remove her freedom to love unconditionally
She was not modern but lived traditionally

So she can only love one man
She had no other plan

Her fears ****** the joy out
For she could not understand how it was all about

I felt her pain as she cried
The only difference is I lived while she had already died

There are words that can't reach me from here
If you simply pluck them from there.

I need to know a person like you exists,
not about what other people say,
not about what you do in order to be like them,
not like losing the one thing you can't have back
in order to become higher than me, not about
breaking yourself for others because you simply
can't fix them.

Once in awhile, someone needs you to be you,
and sometimes, I have to be me to be me.

Let someone know you can be yourself, and it will all be fine. And being fine, is simply alright.

Masks we sometimes wear
Wearing a happy face when we want to cry
why do we disguise what is truely inside and hide behind these masks we wear?
A comedy mask to hide the pain and tears that we still prefer not to face after all these years
the true tragedy that we endured is buried deep beneath
We can become slaves to fear and let the mask turn to a horrific one if we let the fear overcome us.
We can be so afraid of rejection instead of seeking protection from fear itself or instead of letting someone know us for who we really are.
It is better to be real with those around us then to be suffocating behind the masks we sometimes chose to wear
It can be so freeing to just except ourselves and let others see our unique real qualities instead of a masked altered identity.

She says, "Go on, tell me."

So I do, I talk about these devils.
That sudden swarm inside,
I speak of the paralyzing misbeat
Of a stressed out chest.

"That's your anxiety?"

It takes me over, controls me,
Helpless behind a steering wheel
Of a maniac's mania driven horror
But I'm stuck for the ride.

"And who is this other?"

Nameless. Just a foul thing.
There were others, masks
A sea of voices, drowning me out
High tide and its sink or swim

"Go on."

When I'm calm, its quiet.
But I know they slither on,
The engrainimg entrenching thoughts
Of cruelty thats not my own.

"You're afraid?"

I'm wandering about the darkness
With fiendish things in mind
A pitiful puppet of anxiety
Waiting for the end of times

I'm selling all my faces,
All the ones I've worn,
From the happy to the torn.
The one with the smiles,
The one with the scorn.

I'm selling all my faces,
To anyone willing to see,
Through the one on me.
The one that hides my scars,
The one that sets me free.

I'm selling all my faces,
But there's one I'm not so keen,
To be sold or to be seen,
It's the one that's burnt on me,
The only one I mean,
The one that no-one's seen.

I'm selling all my faces.