Masks

As I paint this mask
I contemplate.
Of my work I am proud;
Of the symbol, I ain’t.

Helping others to hide
Behind ceramic and paint--
Losing their souls
Without a complaint.

Blending in with each other,
Indeed is their goal;
Individuality they fear,
Is as black as coal.

They try to dig themselves out,
But dig down too deep,
For the hole that they dig
Buries them ‘till they sleep.

And they cannot awaken
From this dreadful slumber
Because they all fell asleep
Together, in one number.


For some reason, as I began to type, the words of The Danger of Masks came to my mind. I wrote this poem during the first semester of my senior year. I really do like it, though. My cousin Mary bought me the game "True Colors" for either Christmas or my birthday, I don't really remember which one it was, when I was 16. She wanted me to remember to act the way that I really am inside. She wanted me to be myself and not wear a mask. That was probably some of the best advice that I've had. I've often reflected on her wisdom. However, it can be difficult to be true to oneself. There is constant pressure to join in with others, or act a different way to please someone. However, I know that if I can't be myself around someone, then they aren't the type of person that I should hang around. One of the more difficult things about this is that I'm pretty versatile. However, I suppose I'm not versatile enough to completely change myself to adapt myself to others' standards. "Naught can endure but mutability"--Percy Byshe Shelly.