The Pretender Poem by Michelle Obaniyi

The mask will not stop staring at me;
it's eyes are a sinkhole devoid of life or spirit.
That doesn't stop the lingering magnetism,
drawing me back inexplicably every waking day.

Following sacred routine, I place it on my face,
adjusting it to completely conceal, the horrid twisted sight of what really is me.
The mask guarantees a clean state.
I press it on further and further and further,
until it cannot be pressed anymore.
Until I, the uniformed, disappear.
It melts and morphs into my curated self,
imitating a second layer of skin-
one that I will not despise so deeply,
nor feel shame towards.

I tap and admire my distorted image.
The mask eclipses me, brings me protection, and comfort..
Comfort in the knowledge that as I wear it,
I am the correct version of myself.
Even though, this image in the mirror is not mine,
and the voice I hear is stolen,
it completes me, providing what I never knew I lacked.
The mask makes people smile, I do not.
The mask receives genuine laughs, I never do.
The mask makes friends, in ways I could only dream of.
They speak to the mask, not to me.
So I will forever, cling unto it,
as in a land of scarcity, it is my only chance of survival,
and I choose to survive.


As I carry on wearing it,
it becomes increasingly difficult to remove.
Every time I feel that l am ready to surrender and stop pretending,
it latches an a litte tighter and whispers to me;
'Just one more day'
It reminds me of my nothingness before it.
That I will always be nothing without it.

Suddenly a vision of life, without it seems impossible to picture.
(pause)


I begin to make more room for the mask..
I eradicate links to who I was,
and whom I do not want lo remember.
I'm not sure I even can.
I don't remember the last time the mask didn't take over.
The last time it didn't speak or decide for me..
The last time I was myself.
I can't even remember what I really look like.
I have been playing pretend for so long,
that i have lost all capability to distinguish it from reality.

It cements practised smiles unto its emptiness
and suppresses my thoughts.
I do not wear the mask anymore,
it wears me.
And this is terrifying.


Thes is a lifelong batte, that I will partake in no longer:
Me and the mask. The mask and me.
We both know who will win in the end.
Or rather, who has already won.
And the mask will not stop staring at me.