Masked

We walk with shoulders raised to our ears,
counting strides as if pride alone could carry us.
Our waists swing side to side,
our faces carved into smiles,
the perfect image the world demands.

But beneath those smiles,
we hide skeletons of shame and pain,
stories too heavy to tell.

Sometimes I laugh when I think about my life,
Other days I cry myself to sleep thinking about my life.
Then in the quiet,
a shadow whispers: speak,
let them see.

We live through chapters we never wanted published,
fight demons that do not ask permission,
watch sweetness turn bitter in our mouths.

Some days we collapse into chairs
just to let it out.
“This is a safe space,” she says.
I grin,
Then I laugh too loudly,
to wake my ancestors.

And still
with shoulders to my ears,
I rise again,
mask unshrinkable,
smile rehearsed.

I watch a mother feeding her child
scraps gathered from a bin,
and I know
my skeletons are lighter than hers.
So I walk on,
stride by stride.

They tell me to heal.
To fix the child within.
But how do you heal
what you’ve never dared to name?
I shrug,
And raise my shoulders to my ears,
I put on the mask again.

And when morning comes,
all the world hears is:
Good morning.

Also Read: The Visitor at the Window if this poem resonated with you.