Masked Poem by Amber Jones

Every morning I wake and put on my mask,
the one everybody knows and loves.
It smiles and shines like the sun in the afternoon sky,
but,
like the world it lives in,
behind it is a withering dark side.
They think I’m perfect.
They think my life is perfect…
but it’s not,
and I can’t be…
no matter how hard I try.
What they see is false—
a blue-eyed,
blonde-headed girl with perks still in bloom,
my being composed.
I see a fraud—
a cover-up—
because the real girl under my skin hides from the world—
frightened and unable to guide herself to sanity.
That is who I am;
a coward.
I may be the moon in the night sky,
but I am dull…
I glide across the black blanket,
its darkness I drink into a feathered state of numbness.
I pass by glowing,
but I am dead inside.
They don’t understand…
they will never understand.
The pain gallops through my veins—
enjoying the views,
the sorrow,
the destruction.
Its entire purpose is to cause misery,
and its job has been done well.
I am the puppet below the master,
but I don’t care anymore.
What’s the point?