masks

I feel the need to wash away my mask—  

this thick-skinned personality I wear,  

a new one every day,  

for every friend.

The more time I spend alone  

with my mortal, self-sabotaging mind,  

the more I lose touch with the masks.

And I don't want that.

It’s either lose the self I worked so hard to create,  

or drown in my thoughts.

Yet, I’m still not considering death as an option.

I am too complex to be described by mere words,

or visual representations;

Nothing can define me,  

and I don’t feel the need to be defined.

But in this world, full of labels and generalizations,  

they’ll kiss my cheek,  

telling me I’m not who I am,

that it’s better to just put on the masks,

while forcing me to be everyone at once.  

And no matter how much I despise their definitions,  

it's the drugs that keep me awake.

march 12th ‘23