Back to Reality

I take my risks with care.

I know you don't believe it.
You only know
that fragment,
the not-me
of liminal space,
(unreal time)
uprooted from daily context,
where we all exist
in an impossible world,
everything hidden
behind pleasant voices
and borrowed smiles.

In an evening free from:
pressures,
mandates,
orders,
we disguise our banal lives
with costumes,
smoke and mirrors,
pretending
(for a moment)
that we aren't bound by forces
that keep us
driving,
climbing,
always reaching
for that next bright shiny thing.

In that little recess
before the bell rings,
we might wear any disguise,
try on something new.
But my mask scares you too much
to wonder what's beneath.
Now back in our reality
(where life happens)
I long for just a moment
to speak my peace,
tell my truth,
clear things up between us,
so you know there is no agenda,
just a wish we could be allies,
for I am not quite
what you think
after all.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl.