The Mask

We all feel the need to hide who we really are.
Sometimes it seems to be the easier way by far
Not to have to tell anyone your true name,
To go from one life to another, and never be the same.
Every one of us lurks behind a mask,
Creating a persona for any who might ask.
You tell them a name that means many different things,
You make yourself peasants, soldiers or kings.
You wear a different face for everyone you meet.
You choose when to open up and when to retreat.
You need the security of never telling all.
You need the barriers for when the first defences fall.
If they do not know, they have no power over you.
They can’t see what you think, only what you say and do.
If others knew everything you’d be too vulnerable by far,
And so behind the mask you wonder who you really are.
You carefully select what you will let each person see,
And force yourself to conform to what you’d like to be.
So having a mask to hide behind is what sets you free.

And yet it is a terrible thing to never be yourself,
To keep the real person locked away on some old shelf.
Keeping up the act can wear you very thin,
And when the enemy is yourself, neither can ever win.
Hard it is indeed to always live a lie,
And let nobody near you till the day you die.
The mask is a prison of your own making
From which you can’t escape in all the hours of waking.
There are things you are hiding that you need to say aloud,
To shout out who you are, and stand revealed and proud.
But fear keeps you silent and caution stays your hand,
In case those that you call friend fail to understand.
It takes someone breaking through your walls for you to really see
That who you are beneath is who you’re meant to be.
And only when you lose the mask, can you at last be free.