We Have Secrets, We Hide Them by Shades of Masks
~Ps: I do not own any of the pictures.I made the design, but pictures are NOT mine >< Kthxadios =3
Masks. Why are they made? Well according to Wikipedia, a mask is an aritcle normally worn on the face, typically for protection, disguise, performance or entertainment.
The word "mask" came via French masque and either Italian maschera or Spanish máscara. Possible ancestors are Latin (not classical) mascus, masca = "ghost"; Hebrew masecha= "mask"; Arabic maskharah مَسْخَرَۃٌ =jester, "man in masquerade", maskhara مَسْخَرَ = "he ridiculed, he mocked", masakhahe transformed". مَسَخَ = "
Ghost,
Jester,
Ridiculed,
Mocked
And Transformed...
These aren't my words. And these are the words that described the meaning of a mask.
So why don't I see any good in it?
Is there any optimism in wearing one?
Or is it just a joke, a form of an entertainment and a fake identity?
Maybe it's just more to it than meets the eye. But we may never know, as for me...all it does is to hide something that is not wanted to be revealed.
It's fake. It's a solution. It's a wall to something deeper. It's a protection for something unknown or something supressed of knowing.
We all wear masks. One that trully conveys our inner self and Millions that show what we are not.
Avoiding many things. Putting on a show. Everywhere I go.It's becoming quite a routine actually. And I for one don't seem to mind so much.
However I tend to feel the isolation. It's a side effect am I right? It's what I get. But I feel fine that way....some how.
I just don't want to cause anymore damage.
I put on a mask that shys myself away.
I put on a mask that is made out of hard clay,
I put on a mask from night till day,
I put on a mask that keeps in the pain,
I put on a mask that keeps me sane,
I put on a mask that matches the rain,
I put on a mask that shoves pity in the drain,
I put on a Mask,
And it's here, to stay..
-Candace
Also some poems and quotes from some of my beloved friends and from some famous sayings...
There are a many a reason,
for wearing a mask,
But only one against,
"Which one", you ask.
The truth is undoubtly,
that one reason,
Which hurts so deeply,
Like the innocent in prison.
We entered this world,
Fragile and pure,
But other musketeers defend, thus hurt,
The masquerade cant help but to allure.
Alas! the consequence,
Is more detrimental than assumed,
As the cycle repeats in sequence,
And our inner peace consumed.
Looking back to the past,
I conclude to discover,
Anger at truth never last,
Anger at lies last forever.
Therefore be yourself, i urge thee,
As truth and sincerity reign,
No doubt it is easier to flee,
But happiness, you can never gain.
~Florence Chuah
Please Hear What I'm Not Saying
Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I'm afraid to take off
And none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.
So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a façade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of Masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.
I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings --
very small wings,
but wings!
With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator --
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from the shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.
Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books may say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.
By Charles C. Finn
Masks...We put it on for our own sake and for the sake of others. It is no doubt a killer. A fake host of our own being. And lastly....
We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.
~André Berthiaume, Contretemps
God bless.
