Brevity, Quill


My every step is heavy. With every step, I pause and sigh. The pavement beneath my feet is cracked, like my face. The mask has shattered.

With great care, I used to put on a cover on my ugly face. The wrinkles of stress, dark circles of binge watching series, the scars of an accident, the fading marks of my hormonal imbalances, the oodles of fat on my cheeks.  My perfect imperfections were devoured by numerous gazes. Pity, ridicule and guilt, I am no stranger to the consequences of having a horrid face. I put on a mask, a fa├žade on my face every day. I suppress my anger, despair and depression in a plastic smile. My eyes wander around searching for light in this darkness of chaos. Futile.

Alas, the mask shattered and out poured my insecurities. Out came tears of exhaustion. I am tired. I just want to be happy, with my imperfections.