There is a fleshy mask
Stapled sloppy to my face
It has become heavy
Pulling at the places that attach
Metal to skin to me
Finally giving notice
When I open my mouth to speak
I hear my own words echo back clearly
But you hear muffle, garble
Translating me into whatever
However you need to hear
I have seen you clear enough
Through this other set of holes
However ill-fitting, lack of periphery
And assumed that you saw me
But it is this fucking heavy face you see
It occurs to me that I did not
Fit this face atop my own, but you
Fastened it to make transactions
Comfortable and easily able to be labeled
My mistake was in leaving it be
The consolation that at least I could see
Outward is not enough anymore
I no longer wish to be blocked
By someone else’s formation
Fascination
I no longer wish to be the only one
Hearing clear my speech when I say
I will open wide my mouth and eyes
Enough at last to loosen the manmade
Grip between this mask and me
Loosed enough I’ll rip it off finally
I am less afraid of flesh tearing
Now
Or psyche
Aware
That the jagged edges left behind will scream
What you make of the monster
Underneath is your problem
Alone
I’ll be free
— A.R.
Painting by Susan Trueblood Stuart
Posted in Body, Death, Family, Friendship, Identity, Marriage, Meditation, Motherhood, Poetry, Writing
Tags: Anatta, Dogma, Face, Flesh, identity, Mask, No-self, Normal, poetry, Roles, Rules, Self, Society, Voice
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