Phase

I was born without a face (so I’m told)
and it is inappropriate to go outside without one.

So I have gone throughout life collecting masks
to cover the empty space between my ears.

Here is one I obtained years ago.

The mask of the student,
with a ponderous expression and unremarkable colors,
allows the wearer to learn without drawing attention.

Or how about this one?

The mask of the employee.
It’s a sturdy and reliable one. You see?
And reflected in the dutiful face are long hours of accomplished work.

Let me show you this,

the mask of the casual friend.
It’s covered in bright, pleasing colors and a smile, when it’s needed.
It generally lifts the heart, but often is not missed by many.

Then, there is this one,

the mask of the stranger.
Some might think it’s scary or perhaps a bit amusing,
but most don’t even give it a second glance.

This one is a little more familiar

and is the mask of the acquaintance.
Ironically, usually the biggest difference between this mask
and that of the stranger is the occasional obligatory greeting.

It is quite remarkable the number that I have
and my collection of masks only grows as time goes on.

The mask of the tenant,
which can only be rented and never owned.

The mask of the leader,
which is meant to inspire, but can also be cruel.

The mask of the follower,
which blends in easily with the masses.

The mask of the entertainer,
whose presence quickly fades away from memory.

The mask of the customer,
which some view as rather burdensome.

The mask of the man,
which is becoming increasingly less popular.

The mask of the needy,
which no one wants to see.

Some are made of steel,
others, of wood, cloth, silk, or glass

Each has its own design and color
And I have them all.

Some, I adore.
Others, I abhor.

Each has a special purpose
and I have used them all.

But every now and then I ask:
Are they really me?

No.

And yes.

Because each time I use one,
it leaves a piece of me behind.

Forever lost.

But not to me.

I see them.

Don’t think I can’t.
You think you’re so clever
trying to hide it behind a half-smile
or a tip of your hat.

Don’t you get it?
I know what’s going on.
I might have even known it
before you did.

Do you still not know?
Don’t you even have a clue?
Let me sit down for just a moment
and spell it out for you.

Lies.

That’s it.

It’s really that simple.

What do you mean?
You honestly think I believe
that you have absolutely no idea
what I’m talking about?

It’s very easy.
I mean, you do it all of the time.
The glances, the waves, and the smiles
that never quite reach the eyes.

They all do it.
They try to hide what’s really there.
And I must applaud all of your hard efforts
because they work on most people.

But not me.
I know you too well.
I see right through it every time
you try to hide it.

How do I know?
It’s written on your face.
And if that wasn’t enough for you,
it shows in your eyes.

Listen to me.
I am not talking to you
about those pretty hues you have,
but something deeper.

It tells it all.
All of the deep, dark, secrets
and all of the words left unsaid.
It shouts them to the world.

It’s alright.
Just come out and tell me.
I really wish that you would;
you’ll feel better after.

I get it now.
It’s a matter of trust.
What if I told you truthfully
that I won’t judge you for being you?

It’s not enough
and I now understand the why.
It’s impossible for you to hide from me
that you’ve been hurt before.

So I’ll be patient.
I can wait here for you
and the day when you feel
you can trust again.

I’ve told you now.
Don’t be surprised anymore
about how I know what I know.
I have nothing to hide.

You told me
before you didn’t tell me
and I’ll tell you
that you can tell me

any thing

any time

any place.

Once you’re ready.

Clumsy Hands

Life is a tapestry of color and experience,

but I confess that I was never good at sewing. It’s frustrating sometimes, (life, that is,) because no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to thread the eye of the

storm is upon me, giving me a moments’ grace before it blows everything I love away, up into the sky, over the bay, and into the deep blue

see me sitting here on the sidewalk waiting for the postman like a child waiting for some cereal box prize. But, to tell you the truth, the postman is really a woman and the prize is just a

lie down here for a moment in the grass and watch the clouds go by with me. It makes me remember simple times and pleasures, and reminds me what is really worth living

four, wait, six letters lined up in a row: an A, S, E, two K’s and an M. One avoids me, one forgets me, one eats me, one needs me, one greets me, one sees me. All reject me, none get

mi, fa, so, la, ti,

do, or was it do? I do. I don’t. I didn’t. I won’t. Do what? Do nothing. Do something. Do this. Do that. Don’t step on the grass. Don’t talk to me. Don’t tell me what is wrong or

write your secrets on a piece of paper. Or better yet, tell them to a stranger, which is always easier to do than to tell those you care and love, and those who love and care for you in return. Why, you ask? Because

U turn at the next light. The street you need to turn down you can only reach by going a particular

weigh in before the match of your life. Of life. Throw up in the bathroom if you need to lose a bit more

wait a moment for the answer: you don’t have to lie to them. Their lack of understanding means you can tell the truth and they still won’t know enough to judge you or see your weaknesses and even if they do they will soon

forget-me-not is an interesting flower, more because of the name than the actual

flour, sugar, and vanilla I already have, but there are some other things that I
kneed him hard and I can tell it hurt. I would stop to help but I don’t have
thyme, parsley, and rosemary all smell funny, but are very important in
they’re owning up to what they did today. Which is a very good thing
two little boys play in the grass. One has a small rubber ball that is
blew big bubbles at home a few weeks ago. We did it by blowing
threw you a curve ball when I asked my question. Now you
ROFL. ngl, ppl srsly r w8ing 4 nthing. KWIM? LOL. BR
bee flew clear from the hive and stung the top of my
knows a lot, but not quite as much as you think he
wood, but it takes a while, so hammer down the
nails need to be clipped. I lost mine that my
ant went marching one by one, the little
won the prize, so why don’t you come
buy my stuff? I don’t want to be a
cell outside. I know that it isn’t
mine for gold. I’m right here,
but eye halve knot scene

The answer.