Masks

Is there anyone in this world who’s real anymore?
Have we created a society so completely synthetic
like faux suede and polyester lace
that when the going gets hot melts into goo
everyone feeling the need to don a fake face to fit in?
Are there people who are actually the person 
they present themselves to be publicly
or has life become one perpetual production 
everyone playing the part of a fictional character
in front of a perfectly painted façade?
Perhaps that’s why my forty plus years thus far 
on this planet have proven to have been so painful
I’ve adamantly refused to be anyone but me
aside from on the stage where I'm expected 
to portray another personality
Has authenticity been deemed an undesirable trait?
Is it my fate to be forced to remain wary 
every waking moment of a man behind the curtain 
projecting a convincing illusion
creating in others a delusion as to their true identity?
Humanity has always had a penchant 
for making a thing more difficult when it doesn’t need to be
Wouldn’t everything be so much easier if you were simply you
as I am simply me?
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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