An invention,
A creation,
Nothing to see.
An enigma,
An illusion,
A fantasy.
Something
And nothing
A mystery.
The mask
Behind which I hide;
The smile
Behind which I hide;
The wall
I’ve built and
Behind which I hide.
The truth
That cannot be denied.
These lies are mine;
Yes, this is me.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
A poem of identity and owning the lies
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We wear these, masks, because we don’t feel, safe enough, to show our, truest, selves, to the world…
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Yes there is a certain amount of comfort to be gained from wearing a masks, but I think everyone ideally needs someone who they can show their truest self too. Even if it is just being honest with yourself.
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