Masks

August 9, 2011
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I am not who my family thinks I am. I am not the perfect daughter, the straight A, quiet, always behaves, girl. I am not the teachers pet. That’s one of my masks. I am not who my friends think I am. I am not rebellious; I am not dark and disturbed, well not how they think I am at least. I am not a person who hates the world, who despises everyone and everything. That is a mask I wear. I am not who teachers think I am. I am not quiet, I am not a perfect student, and I don’t never talk and sit there quietly. That is another Mask. I am a girl who when you finally remove all of my mask’s doesn’t know who she is. I can’t tell you what I’m like. I can only tell you who you want me to be. I will be perfect, depressed, a teachers pet, an angry, or a happy person. I will fit into any click, any group, any circle because I am not that person. If I had to remove my masks, I can’t tell you what you’d find. I can’t tell you because I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t perfectly able to be a perfect model of what you wanted. I would study you, adapt to you, I would match you in everyway. I am made to be exactly what you want. But no one knows that girl. The one who sits outside, crying in the rain, the one who practices how she could tell you this everyday. The girl that dreams of getting away. But my masks will follow until I say enough. Enough of this girl who sits here day by day, fading away. Enough. Now all I have to do is say it. One word not that hard. But saying that one word shatters everything in my life. Will I ever be able to say it? Well I’ll just sit here and wait for that day. Please come soon.





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