The Olympic Sport of Masking

You see, it was his fear of sharing and intimacy,

That got him into this dreaded mess,

Masked by way of obfuscation,

I didn’t live there, have that experience,

Or, belong to that religion, nope, my mental health is great!

I’ve had so many relationships I’ve lost count, sex is ace.

And the Ensuing: JUDGEMENT!

From others or from himself?

After all, as I believe it’s said,

The man who wears two, three, four, five,

Or is it six masks? -

“Sooner or later forgets which one is real..”

A bumbling neurotic - quirks you don’t see!

“You’re so mysterious”, she said.

His alternate faces of being:

By turns, strong and austere,

Endlessly lost and weak,

Meek and hyper-active,

An immature clown and occasionally Mr Psychoses,

Whilst more than a little aloof.

Was he in a mystery/ horror or a tragi-comedy?

Who can tell?

He’s stoic, proud and unhappy,

Unable to express,

Twist it up in a glass jar, lock it up, tightly

So he alone can always enjoy his suffering,

They don’t need to know, they don’t

Feel you -

Turn the page, there’s nothing here!

Just a little mystery,

No climactic plot twist central to this rapport.

Keep it in a glass jar,

Twist it, press it,

Lock it up and

Keep it so safe -

Until, it’s smashed, and

Then watch it bleed out across the floor.

Truth is a social construction,

Say it once - it’s already starting to lose

its meaning.

Type it up,

It’s not the same,

And always evolving,

Even the sheep don’t interpret its inherent meaning correctly.

Better to keep it inside,

‘Falsity’ reigns and the masks continue, and yet,

They’re not lies, but factual to a degree,

They once existed in truthfulness bent,

Although earnest, yet at once inauthentic.

No central truth to see here.

Clear away!

2020.