Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the mask I wear.

For I wear a thousand masks--masks that I'm afraid to take off

and none of them are me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me, but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give the impression that I'm secure--

that all is sunny and unruffled with me,

within as well as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game--

and that I need no one.

But don't believe me- please, please, don't believe me.

My surface may seem smooth--but my surface is my mask.

Beneath dwells the real me--in confusion--in fear and aloneness.

But I hide this--I don't want anyone to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear of being exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind -

a nonchalant, sophisticated facade

to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only salvation.

That is if it is followed by acceptance, if it's followed by love,

It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself--

that I am really worth something.

But I don't tell you this, I don't dare. I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love.

I'm afraid you will think less of me--that you'll laugh at me,

and your laugh will kill me.

I'm afraid that deep down inside I'm nothing--that I'm no good,

and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my games--my desperate, pretending games--

with assurance on the outside, and a trembling child within.

I idly chatter with you in the suave tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that means nothing,

and nothing of what is everything, of what's hurting deep inside me.

So when I'm going through my routine, do not be fooled by me.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying;

what I'd like to be able to say, what, for survival, I need to say, but cannot.

I dislike hiding, honestly I do.

I dislike the superficial, phony games I'm playing.

I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous and me,

but I need your help.

You've got to hold out your hand,

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care-

-my heart begins to grow wings.

Very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings.

With your sympathy and understanding,

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of breathing death.

Only you can break down the walls behind which I hide.

Only you can remove my mask.

You alone can release me from my lonely prison of panic and uncertainty.

It won't be easy for you.

The nearer you approach me the harder I strike back.

Please do not pass me by.

Please try to beat down my walls with firm hands-

-but with gentle hands,

for inside I am a very sensitive and frightened child.

Who am I? You may wonder.

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet.

And I am every woman you meet.

~Anonymous~

This page was last updated on: January 2, 2014