Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear.
For I wear a thousand masks, masks mask that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them are me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me, but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled
with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness is my game, that the water is
calm and I am in command, and that I need no one.
But don't believe me, please.
My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask.
Beneath this lies no complacence.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear and aloneness.
But this I hide. I don't want anyone to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear of being exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant,
sophisticated facade, to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation.
My only salvation and I know it. That is, if its followed by acceptance, if it is followed by love.
It is the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself,
that I am worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love.
I'm afraid that you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh at me, and
your laugh will kill me.
I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm no good and that you'll see this and reject me.
So I play my game, my desperate game, with a façade of assurance without, and a trembling child within.
And so begins the parade of masks. And my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is
really everything, of what's crying inside me; so when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying, what I'd like
to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but what I can't say.
I dislike hiding. Honestly!
I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the phony game.
I'd like to be spontaneous and genuine and me, but you've got to help
me. You've got to hold your hand out even when that's the last thing I
seem to want. Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of breathing death.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings.
With your sensitivity and sympathy, and your power of understanding,
you breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can be the
creator of the person that is me if you choose to.
Please choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask.
You alone can release me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty,
from my lonely person. Do not pass me by.
Please.........do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me the blinder I strike back.
I fight the very thing I cry out for, but I am told that love is
stronger than walls, and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle
hands - for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I you may wonder? I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet and I am every woman you meet.
I am you!!