What you see before you upon my face is but a mask; a façade to counter life's hardships, a shield to absorb fortune's cruelty
It is but one of many, yet none of them are me
I wear dozens upon dozens of these lies
Some differing as much as earth and water, others as similar as bitterness and resentment
Yet no matter what they project, underneath, there is almost always something else, something more
But I don't tell you what's there, for I fear the sword and dagger that sometimes follows
Thus, everyone becomes my enemy; spies to take my identity and use it against me
So I build a wall, imprisoning myself within my own conscious, hoping that one day, my bird will fly
So who am I?
Even I don't know
For I have buried that truth in the deepest recesses of my soul, a place which only my shadow knows
And to unearth the truth, I must burn my dread, pierce the fog of self-conducted lies, and face myself
Because to determine and accept myself for who I am is my first step of many in the journey of comprehension of one's self and others