Mask Off

Tell me this—

What happens to a soul like mine?

Where “real” isn’t a performance,

And emotions don’t wait for an invitation to show up?

I laugh, I frown, I burn bright with rage,

No filter, no edit—just me.

But the world? Oh, they love a good disguise.

They line up in masks—

“Topper,” “Professor,” “Sweetheart,” “Success”—

And they want me to pick one too.

Wear a smile, they say,

And make it believable.

(But my face doesn’t do pretend.)

Because I’m living in a world

That loves the fake—it’s easier to digest.

My anger? Too bitter.

My truths? Too sharp.

My fight for justice?

“Relax,” they tell me, “why can’t you just chill?”

So I try.

I try being soft.

Fake sweet.

Soft as syrup, dripping compliments I don’t mean.

And guess what?

Suddenly, they’re listening.

Suddenly, I’m “nice.”

Suddenly, I’m invited to the party—

A puppet in their masked ball.

But when I rip it off?

When I say, “Enough!”

When I scream for the innocent,

For the truth, for the ones who suffer?

Crickets.

Empty chairs.

Eyes that look through me.

And here’s the twist—

It’s lonely being real.

It’s heavy being the one who refuses to pretend.

But you know what’s heavier?

Living a lie.

So let them talk. Let them hide.

Let their masks give them fragile comfort.

Because the world needs someone like me,

Someone like you—

To keep showing up, raw and unfiltered.

One day, they’ll see.

When their masks crumble,

When their pretenses tire,

They’ll wish they had the courage to be—

What I already am.

So I ask you:

If the world loves its masks,

Will you still take yours off?