Every morning, every day
they put on a costume
for the continuous
masquerade ball
their deepest fear
branded a nobody
burned reputation
the pathetic token.
An organized farse
all are in attendance
ensuring their shame
is kept well asleep
out of pure fear, that
people might know
and maybe find out
that nothing is there.
Confidence does not
really, sit in their soul
performance is just
their ultimate goal
they dress their face
in an optimal look
of unstable balance,
the unshakeable smile.
Arrive at the dancefloor
of their own public life
clothed in glimmered
performed confidence
where glances dance
with bloated envy
and bitter remorse
to the cowards music.
All this they do, to
convince themselves
and sell to their friends
a myth of perfection
that their longing
keeps making up.
I am not innocent,
am guilty of this too.
A.G. Munson
