Staring at the masked faces on the wall, I couldn’t but recognize myself. I was one of them. One of the many social purgers who has found a stance to judge everyone. Tap a friend and share the unholy sermon, let the giggles follow.
“Check his Twitter, he’s up to no good”
“I think he’s pushes drugs; with that haircut I won’t be surprised”
“He’s too soft for a guy, I bet he’s a fag!”
At any moment, there are a million notions going around yet you choose what to process, I have chosen to be a judge.
I have a mask tightly clung to my face, the person you see is not who is. I’m just the idea you had processed in motion. I have morphed into the right kind, the right clothes and the right look just to find a place within you. Let’s sit at the table a motion prejudices into order.
Do you know who I am?
I believed the mask made me entitled, I hoped it would make me free, I prayed it would make me braver. I have worn this face that I wouldn’t have to be an object in your eyes, that I could sit among the nobles and stare you down my nose.
This mask, this face, is your face, it is your judgement. It’s a tight fit.
“enhance the features we want to see”
“Entrap us in the beauty of your mask, our mask; come let us judge”
Society is but a brood of masks, a costume party at most, making merry in cowardliness, afraid to confront reality, afraid to look each other in the eye and poke those ribs. We’ve become what others want of us, of what they couldn’t be of themselves, of what children can boast of before they are pruned to “perfection”.
For the first time I am confronted with a part of me that the masked man doesn’t want to have. I can’t stand the truth of it and it torments me. It’s tormenting to you as well.
This mask hurts, pull it off.