We Wear the Mask

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

       We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

       We wear the mask!

Dop​pel​gäng​er

You do not know this person I've become. In some ways, she is even foreign to me. This is not to say she is unreal. She exists. She is still unfolding as I am still becoming. I have grown leery of proclamation, so I will not say she is the better or best embodiment of my evolving self. She is different, and at this time, she is truest. Her aspect is similar, but not exact. She does not speak, think, sound, smell, or feel like the me you love. Her fingerprints are unique, and the impressions she leaves are unlike the ones I left. If you knew this person I am becoming, you would either recoil from the contrast or applaud the audacity. But, there is no world - real or imagined - where you embrace her. You must regard this new me as a stranger even if you appreciate the likeness. And, I accept the cost of freedom to be who I will even as I mourn the inevitable losses.