my mask by e

That poem is entitled Masks. How many times we might have passed someone else with blue skin, but because we were too ashamed, or scared of rejection, we didn't know it.  How many connections, loves, affairs, relationships have been missed because we wore our mask.  How many times have good things passed me by because I was too scared to let my true self show.

I can understand the desire to live with the mask firmly in place.  It is easier to accept rejection if I can say, "They don't really know me, they only see the me I want them to."  But I can also understand the desire to live with the mask in the garbage can, thrown away so that the true me shines through.

My mask is that of a straight girl, who studies a lot, and reads a little for fun.  My mask likes to work out, and smoke and drink.  My mask doesn't know too much about music or movies or authors or composers.  My mask tries to blend in.

The girl behind my mask love to look at men and women.  The real me loves to read for fun and to listen to Gershwin and Vivaldi while blogging.  The real me is head over heels for a man named Isaac and want to date a woman named Macy.  The real me doesn't want kids, only horses and cats. Maybe a dog or two.  The real me wants a nose ring, a tattoo behind her ear, tattoos on both wrists and tattoos down both legs.  The real me hates small talk and wanted to be told everything straight, just like it is, no sugar coating.

But what about making people feel uncomfortable? Sometime, the true me- the bi-pan-queer, horse loving, Whedon'ite- overwhelms and frightens people; especially the bi-pan-queer part.  So how do I live: with the mask off or the mask on?  Or should I buy an opera mask and only show part of my face?