Matryoshka

You and I are like Russian dolls.

Innumerable different identities,

Different lives,

Different people

Stacked up inside of each other.

The biggest is the face we put on most,

The one our friends see,

The one our family sees.

It's intricate, polished, painted to perfection,

Because it's the one we show the world.

There's no room for mistakes.

Inside there are more,

Layers upon layers,

Getting dirtier and messier and smaller,

And some things are similar

But others are different.

They're all still us,

But not quite.

After all those layers, there's one more piece.

One piece that has no cracks,

No other person hidden inside.

It's the smallest and the purest,

Painted with just a few dashes and blots

Or just one solid color.

That's the real person, the true us.

The one we don't let anyone see.

Just the bare minimum, the dashes of color.

It doesn't look like the others,

It's not pretty and pristine,

It wasn't painstakingly painted and polished.

It wasn't meant to be put on display, either.

It's just for you, that smallest piece.

When you look at it the first time,

You think it's not as important

Because it's not as colorful,

There's no face, no detail, no polish.

But when I look, I know

That the most important feature of that tiniest doll

Isn't its color

But its shape.

I know that shape influences every other doll

That has to be built around it.

We all start as one little piece

And we mold the rest to fit.

We color them one by one,

Getting better as we go out,

Gaining precision, detail, polish.

We keep building layers until we find one that makes us happy.

Then we tuck the rest of them inside,

Lock them away and forget about them

Until we want to see them again,

Or show them to someone.

To open up, layer by layer,

Through the dirt and the mess and the mistakes,

To bear that tiny heart.

And no matter what, we keep them all

Nestled together, one inside another

Inside another.

One missing piece means

That the puzzle no longer fits together.

Without that piece, something inside us is loose,

Banging around making noise when we move.

Without all of them, we'd be empty.

You and I are like Russian dolls.

Innumberable different identities,

Different lives,

Different people

Stacked up inside of each other,

Working together to create us.