My Holiday
When you see me
What do you see?
Do you believe that it's the real me you view?
Or one that I have made up?
I believe you see the one you want to see
The former rather than the latter
Which is fine with me
Or it used to be.
Now though,
Its as if the real me doesn't exist,
The mask has become something that I can no longer take on and off.
Its become me.
I have ceased to exist.
Yet for some reason,
The scars are still there
And I stare at them,
But you never see them with their color differentiations on me.
You see only what you want to.
Someone well adjusted,
Able to handle the stress,
The weight of her world,
But I cant.
Its simply an act,
For which you fall each time even when I tell you it isn't real.
Because when I tell you,
You say I'm lying.
That I'm hiding.
That I want something to be wrong with me.
So I pull the mask back on,
Like it was Halloween,
So every day is my own holiday.