When I stare at the girl
With the shattering mask
And see her eyes dulled to gray
As the lips tilt into a broken smile
And she denies any wrong
Saying all is perfectly fine, okay,
Even so far as good.
Then I know that it is the mask
That is speaking to me
Not the girl who rests behind.
But I will not force her,
Ripping off her mask myself;
She has the strength to remove it.
She has the choice
To show her face to me
Or to hide the wounds
That steadily are deepening
Cutting into the beautiful soul
And rending it apart like ribbons
With every new pain she must endure.
That is the saddest truth
That the scared, scarred girl
Who stares behind the mask
Is so much beautiful than the flawless doll,
Than the made up marionette who performs,
Because she is real.
Every wound is a battle survived,
Her scars tell of the strength
She possesses to make it through
Every passing pain that would
Kill a lesser creature of this world
But has made her stronger.
Even though she doesn't see it
She is beautiful
She is strong
She is real
And she deserves the best;
But only she can get there
I can merely try to help her with the map.