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 leave.

You think you are wearing me,

but I am wearing you out.

I am the thief of your energy,

the barrier between you and the help

you're too "fine" to ask for.

(The Shadow's Final Word)

I am the one you starve so the mask can eat.

I am the ink inside of the pen,

the heavy breath you hold when the lights go out.

You call me a demon, ghost, mistake,

but I am simply the part of you that refuses to lie.

I don't want to destroy you;

I want to be known.

I am the strength you use to survive the dark,

the fire that burns when you have no warmth.

Stop trying to kill me to save yourself.

I am the only one who has been with you the whole time.

Turn around,

let the sun hit your back,

watch how I reach out to the horizon

patiently waiting for you to call me by my real name...

...yours.