Masked in Plain Sight

-

Did you know that just five minutes ago, I cried, wailing like an inconsolable baby who seems unable to find her mother in sight? Yet, here I am before you, my mascara neatly aligned back to normal, and my lipstick contoured to perfection, lips uncurling to reveal a beautiful white smile. Did you know that last night, I went to bed with nothing served on supper's platter because I had to choose between me and them and because of the heart caged within me, the choice leaves no question, it would always be them? 

So, I watched them feast and that filled me up with happiness for a while because a mother walks proudly behind her young. She simply lets them have it, a good mother, yes! Yet, here I am rejecting your offer of lunch and boasting to you how great of a breakfast I have had, meanwhile the butterflies play tennis with gas rackets that bounce from side to side. Hunger! You believe me though, don't you, because I have learned to cry with my heart, lie with my eyes, and smile with my cheeks, so that the picture before you always sits cozily in a glossy, golden frame. In plain sight, I smile. Shattered though, indeed I am, but I have learned to dance with my mask, entwined within the jagged rhythms of life. A sorrowful dance that keeps my mask's chords strung tight, impossible to peel off.

I walk the streets, eager to say hello to everybody, all the while the threads of my pain long to weave a fabric of comfort but............. Where does the safe house exist, where can I run away and silently stitch? The wounds, dear God, they bleed, gushing out of my veins and running profusely down my weary feet. But you don't see it, do you, I mean, how could you? I think my cup has run dry, from years of pouring sweet tea into the mugs of the ungrateful and I never even remembered to pour into my own cup. Yet, here I sit across you, listening to your every word. What a great friend I am, right? Lies! I look at you, I want to share in your joy, to consume it entirely, I really do but instead, I just sit here wishing I could rip apart this mask, so you could finally see the scary shadows of my scars and maybe then you could help me smooth them out.....and if I am lucky enough, find some way of closing them up to heal. 

This is exhausting, and all I want to do is scream, while standing in middle of a cold, dark room with my shadow cheering me on, good grief, all I need to do is scream. My foundation is crumbling but how do I ask for a hammer? I do not want your mending concrete because I fear one day you may ask me to return it all so you can build your own home. Reproach and gossip are the really the monsters I fear, so instead, all the dirty bags of burden, I insist I bear. I'm drowning in these muddy waters with surfaces obscured. I want to tell you everything, even how much, right now, amidst the sound of your voice, that death seems lusciously appealing............

But would you believe me, with my mask off in plain sight, would you really believe me, if I did?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Story of Many

-
Geneva hastened along the fragmented, concrete path that connected her humble dwelling to the outside world. Though riddled with puddles and cracks that snapped toes, she had memorized every step. Her movements were automatic. She always found it humorous how the craters resembled her own life; the empty spaces and creases were very much like the voids she had been trying to fill ever since she was a child. Yesterday was her last "late warning," so she snapped out of it and hurriedly made her way to catch the early morning bus. On both sides, columns of dingy, rusty galvanize served as fences. "What could they even protect?" thought Geneva, and that gave her a chuckle. Her friend Sharon was already leaning over her veranda to wait for Geneva for the latest neighbourhood gossip. Lord, how could she escape her? "Not today, Sharon, girl I'll miss my bus!" hailed Geneva as politely as she could. Sharon had already given up, had accepted she would never mak...
Read more

Forget Them

-
The quest for closure can sometimes come at a high price. People intentionally hurt us and act like we pulled the knife from their back. Closure sometimes looks like accepting that others do not associate themselves with accountability. Closure can look like understanding that others are more interested in their self- righteousness and false sense of grandiosity than actually building and sustaining meaningful relationships. Closure can look like accepting that some people will never admit they are wrong even if the devil held the meeting with them himself. Closure means choosing you. Choosing you and walking away from what others will never acknowledge. Why don't you acknowledge how amazing you are instead, how freely you love, how slow you judge and how automatically that light inside you shines? Why don't you focus on the glowing parts of you, feast with yourself and break good bread? People eventually tell on themselves, just give them time. Did you take accountability in s...
Read more

Uncanny

-
A big headed, protruding navel, slang talking little boy just popped up in our amidst. All we knew was that he was my uncle's son and a trail of mischief was forever his shadow (inserts chuckle). His name was even stranger.....Jomokenyatah? What on God's green Earth? (inserts chuckle through tears). No formal introduction was necessary,  he just fit right in. We swear, he became our granny's favourite in absolutely no time! Hiding stuff in her blouse to hand to him when she thought we didn't notice, that was a tell all. (inserts chuckle) We remember the days when he ran naked and his mother screamed "Oba,"....... to which there was never a response, just giddy innocence and joy to be part of a clan. More like a brother than a cousin, Jomokenyatah became our own. We all loved him, looked after him, scolded him, hugged him, trailed him and sometimes feared for him. That mischief was otherworldly.  For some time, we did not see him because his passion landed him ...
Read more