Behind the Mask

Holding firmly to my mask; clenching tightly to protect it's position...hands ready to let go and let it fall.  "Take it off," they speak with soft eyes and kind hearts, but nobody likes to see the pain behind the mask.  Nobody likes to see the ugly truth and the depths to which it sinks...the putrid way it stinks.  Maybe the struggle, but never the denial and never the days of dark when words are sharp, voices are raised, and eyes dart back and forth in confrontation...there's nobody there for that kind of truth.  That kind of truth is always alone and so desperately needs a kind word or touch even if it snaps back or flinches when given.  I want to release my mask, but I'm afraid that if I take it off and stand there naked and exposed, that the rejection will be more than I can bare...and once it falls, the mask will lose it's warmth and grow cold on the ground where it lies...and then what will I hide behind?  The truth is that this all shouldn't matter.  The truth is that it all still does.  Half of the hiding is in knowing that I shouldn't feel this way...in knowing that by now my face should be exposed and reflect His eyes...His smile...His love...and some days it does... these days where the mask begins to itch and shift uncomfortably on my face in such a way that causes me to lift my hands up to rip it away...and maybe someday I will...maybe that will be today.