Masks We Wear

So much to say in a long, winding time—
a journey through words
that unravel and tangle
in the spaces between us.
It’s easy to be myself
when the night is quiet
and the world looks away.
But oh, how I find it easier
to slip into the skin of someone else,
someone who feels less exposed
under the harsh light of day.

Open up my hand, let me down—
I’m learning the art of letting go
even when it bruises my palms.
I look into your eyes, searching
for a place to hide,
for a mirror that won’t break
when it meets my gaze.

Night and day, they come and go,
a tide that sweeps me under
then carries me back to shore.
The hours drift past,
but the ache remains—
a longing to be seen
without the mask,
to touch without trembling,
to be myself
without the fear
of falling through your hands.

But still, I linger in shadows,
a chameleon of heart and soul,
hoping you’ll see through
the layers I wear—
the armor that hides
a soft, fragile light
that only dares to shine
when the darkness closes in.