The masks she wears June 26, 2013

 

 

Two weeks after posting an extremely manipulative poem about how great sex with some man or maybe a woman was, she steps back out of her protective cover once again, reviving the pattern of her life in a brilliant but complex poem about how people really don't see who she actually is, but rather the life she happens to be living at the moment.

Unlike her Windows poem that she posted last summer she says she has no home – a theme she has previously touched on, suggesting that everything is temporary even the projected image of who people think she is.

Life is never what it seems and though people believe they have a grasp on who she is or what she wants, she as well as life constantly changes identity, largely because she often adopts a different persona to meet her needs

“I've never felt at home because I've never been at home,” she says.

She survives by clothing herself in what she calls “borrowed lives”, lives that are not really who she is but rather a shell she crawled inside even when at the core, she stays is the same.

When she grows beyond the Avatar she lives in, she sheds it and for a brief moment finds herself free but curious and lonely.

Like a chameleon, she adapts to each new environment becoming something -- at least on the surface --

 other than herself, a persona others presume who she is, when in reality she at those moments is only wearing a mask.

Removing the mask, changing identity, is a liberating experience but also a perilous one leaving her real self exposed and vulnerable and oddly lacking an identity others would recognize.

Outside, for that brief moment, she sees the shell she previously occupied and she takes advantage of the way those around her seem to find some comfort in the vague familiarity of what she wears.

But those people are distant.

This is a very complex idea implying a lot about who she is and how she lives her life, how she borrows lives until they are no longer have a use for her, then abandons it and those people attached to that temporarily identify.

Then, when she comes to realize this life really isn't about her life, she moves on, bidding farewell even to those she loves, yet who have fallen in love with an image that isn't her, rather a projection, the shell, the life she temporarily shrouded herself with, pieces break off her heart and soul, she says.

But she seems to take satisfaction in the fact that she has lived at least two dozen lives while those she leaves behind lead only one.

This poem begs the additional question as to who she really is, and whether anyone has ever met the real person behind the two dozen masks she claims to have warned over her short life.

 

 

 


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