“Masquerade” by Shanina Conway

When I take off my mask, you dare not look at me anymore. You haven’t noticed in a long time, how the porcelain silkiness of my skin has faded to gray, you have not seen the blackness that rims my eyes with despair, the deep green of my eyes that has been washed to yellow by my tears. You have not seen all this because you’ve dressed me up in a mask, you’ve dolled me up in velvet and in feathers, molded me into a sensual silent beast for your social menagerie, an elegant clown that acts the part of a mime and seductress. But the fire which I project is that of the red mask–not mine–and the smile that glitters at you mirthlessly is again of the mask. Next time I discard my fake face, I know you’ll take my head in your hands, and cradle my cheeks with your palms. I know your fingers will trace the black rivers streaming from my eyes, and your lips will kiss the blood to life in my lips. I know you will heal me, if only you look at me, if only you notice. Your eyes will resurrect mine… or seal my fate in this masquerade.

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