Monster Behind the Mask
Sometimes, I must admit that I'm impatient.
Sometimes, I must admit that I'm impatient. I'm so sick of holding my tongue when I want to speak. It's the equivalent of holding my breath when I want to breathe. I keep all of my emotions held close on a short leash, but I will set free what needs to be released and scream as if you care to hear me.
From your outside point of view, you see a smile and frivolous ways but underneath this fake facade is a beast that breathes with shame. There is more than meets the eye and I'm so comfortable in this disguise, teeth as sharp as razors hidden behind this painted smile.
There are times when I feel heartless, cold and insecure. My closet is piled with bones that I've been holding onto for years, but it's about time I let them out. Undignified as it may seem, I have to kill this parasite that has come alive inside of me.
God, amputate the parts that are still left unclean before the infection spreads and I am left to rot from this disease. My sin is ever before me, a haunting reminder of how I've failed, frightened by the initial sight of a man I thought was dead. Looking at me through a broken mirror that reflects everything I hate and the pollution I've inhaled is only fueling my deepest rage.
I've done my best to clear my conscience so it's not like I haven't tried but I swear that there is nothing darker than the thoughts that cross my mind.
I can possibly blame genetics for the reason I'm incandescent, but I am accountable for myself with no one to shame when I'm living reckless. Throwing my fist into walls, these inanimate objects take the place of those I hate. It's a shame how bad the stress gets but the mask fits so perfectly and no one would suspect it because I laugh the loudest, they don't notice I feel rejected.
Since the days of adolescence, "Behind Blue Eyes" was a reflection of the man my dad would soon become. He sung that song for years while tapping on the steering wheel, pouring his heart out as if he wrote the song himself. But a song is just a song until it is felt, then it becomes something else.
The rhyme gives birth to reason and I've seen my dad in all four seasons of rage, but I have also seen him change. So I'm left without excuse for my contingent attitude towards the people I've been hurting, knowing that they don't deserve it makes me feel so low and worthless.
The words I've used for cursing the life that I've been given. I'm trying to convince them that I've changed yet I remain so stubborn, so indignant.
The introspection of your eyes have seen all I have to hide, contaminated by the sin that ravages through my veins like a virus. My anger, so unrighteous. Unjustified are my reactions led by these spontaneous relapses. For years I've been in bondage to the chains that held me captive, imprisoned by the shame, but tonight I'm unmasking.
Here I am, imperfect yet so perfect is your strength in all of my weakness. If you said that I'm forgiven, then you know that I believe it.
Here I am, though broken, here I stand with nothing more to give and so much more to gain. Here I am.