The "Stranger," the "Mask," and the Shadow Self
(Stranger) I am the one you left behind in the hallway, the version of you that doesn't know how to lie. You feed me colors to keep me quiet, painting over the grey until my skin is a gallery of things you wish were true. However, look closer at the edges. The paint is peeling where the tears dried. I am not a stranger; I am the truth waiting for the brush to run out of ink. (Mask) I am the armor you pull from the drawer, between the coffee and the car keys. I am the "professional smile" for the 9-5, the one that nods at the manager while the ghost of last night still crawls through your bones. I am the "everything is fine" you wear to the party, the shield that keeps questions at bay. I filter your silence into "listening" and your exhaustion into "just a long week." But the hinge is heavy. By 3PM, I am a lead weight on your jaw. By 7PM, the glue of "normal" begins to wither away in the steam of the shower you don't want to lea...