Masks

Few of us actually know what kind of people we are. Are you emotional? Or nonchalant about most things? Are you chatty and extroverted? Or quiet and introverted? Confident and loud? Nervous and shy?

The list goes on.

Maybe to your mother you are kind and endearing, to your father cold, but strong, to your younger brother, firm and responsible. So many people, to each we show a face, a mask is then borrowed, to plaster on your face.

Maybe your dad shouted at you in the car this morning, but in front of your peers, you paste on a smiling mask to hide your disgrace.

See?

The question is, who are we? Under the mask, what is under the mask? I don't know. I don't really want to know about myself.

I guess it's because I'm scared I'll see a monster, something I am, but something I shouldn't be.

To those of you who say that "I am who I am, problem, bitch?"

You're wrong, underneath the skin we're all the same. They're inside all of us. Driving our very emotions and actions. Generating every thought. But our conscience is there, and our souls, not to forget, society.

Monsters. Hiding behind our masks.