Please hear what I am not saying...

I read this in one of the Chicken soup for the soul series. Pretty good.


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 am afraid to take off,
And none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that is second nature to me,
But don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure,
That confidence is my name and coolness is 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 my seem 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 and fear being exposed.
That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
A nonchalant sophisticated façade, 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 I so painstakingly erect.
It’s the only thing that will assure me
Of what I cannot assure myself,
That I’m really worth something.
I don’t like to hide.
I don’t like to play 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 bland 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,
Very feeble wings,
But wings!
With your power to touch me into feeling
You can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.

Who am I, you may wonder.
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet.
For I am every woman you meet.

- Jill Zevallos-Solak

Regards,

Devil's own