I was nine years old when I first saw it
A mask smiling on pile of shame
Echoes of laughter and ashes of human
I rid myself of my own name
The mask was painful, but I was determined
A child shedding herself of her skin
I buried that girl beneath soil and solitude
Life was game, and she couldn't win
I danced with that mask, and it guided my feet
I no longer walked on my toes
I wouldn't flap my hands or avoid their eyes
In pictures, I knew how to pose
The mask wore a smile and knew when to laugh
It even knew how to speak like the rest
It was never called names or spoken to slowly
It knew how to pass every test
But the girl that I buried, her heart is still beating
I catch glimpses of her weeping in mist
She claws at her grave, but can't remember her name
"Why didn't they let me exist?"
Her cries shatter my chest, and I summon her back
But I know that she's lost all control
I murdered that girl and replaced her with plastic
Now the mask is sewn into my soul
What would she look like if they let her exist?
She is the ash I wish to reclaim
It was more than a mask. It was the death of a child.
Please tell me, what was my name?
YOU ARE READING
Written in Red
PoetryA compilation of poetry I wrote during high school about sexuality, heartbreak, navigating the world as an autistic woman, dysfunctional families, grooming and abuse, and more.
