A face upon a face,
we wear a new one every day;
I cry today,
I laugh today —
contextual, sensual.
But every day, I gain a new face:
I hold my fear,
I behold my thought,
I scare my own life,
I hide my tears,
and wear one upon one,
and say, “life moves on.”
The longer I go and come,
the farther I close off my thought;
but again, on one more night,
I wear another face —
secluded, and scared;
hideous, and gorgeous;
lame, and shamed.
And with the night, I put on my real face.
Everyone wears a face,
asking one another, “Tell me about you”—
knowing so little of anything,
yet boasting about everything.
My nerves are so messed up;
I feel completely drained.
Thinking it over, again and again—
what do I do? What do I really do?
Should I become like them,
or make a rule of my own?
Should I try to change them,
or bend beneath my own knees?
Yes—that is the question:
what face should I wear today?
That I’m the happiest of all,
that I never get hurt,
that I’m not alone in this world?
I’m still confused, as if by nothing,
spending all day and night
thinking it through to a summary—
wearing faces upon faces,
living each day behind a new one,
calling them my self, and me.