I don't remember
a time without it—
the layers of quiet,
the carefully built smile, the eyes that look, but don’t see
I wear it like skin,
a second skin,
tight and smooth,
keeping the world at bay,
a shield,
a shape,
a role.
Who am I without this face,
this quiet performance
played every day,
each line a story
I never wrote?
I’ve forgotten
the sound of my own breath
without the weight of it,
the quiet truth of what lies
beneath the mask—
soft, unspoken,
lost in the shadows.
Somewhere deep,
I know I exist.
But in the space between
I am a whisper,
a flicker,
waiting to be seen.
What if the mask slips,
even for a moment—
what would I find then?
I don’t know.
But in the silence,
I think I’ll listen.
Maybe there is a voice
beneath it all.
Maybe it’s still me.
