ACT #447

for 447 days, i’ve been waking up every day and picking a mask to cover my real face, deformed by an immense pain. the healer, the silent listener, the self obsessed, the over achiever, the small manageable easily comforted breakdown, the scream with no sound. they are suffocating me, but no one wants to know what i actually look like since you took my soul away.

“my mask is made of different shells and skins with my appearance, continuously picked, changed and discarded, because my real self is scary and heavy to me and others.”