unmasking

throughout this long yet brief life

when I am not ready to face

my own light

or the shadows of my own

grief and shame

and instead refuse to peel back

the old epidermis,

my face grows more callous

shrouding itself in delusion

that numbs and breathes in

a neurosis that covers up

the traces of what has marked

my existence.

the markings of time

are the hands of God

sculpting my face

to face whatever, whoever

may come.

yes, the lines that life leaves us with

aren’t always easy to bear

but without them

we would not have a story to share.

my head grows heavy

with the denial

of my most erotic self

hidden in the shadows of my pride

what false light

what agony to lie

to a heart that wants the joy

of having the courage to be

a man of integrity.