See the Real Me, Please
Summary: I panic at the thought of my weaknesses and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind.
Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT; just love playing in their sandbox. A reviewer notified me that there was a poem out there with very similar content and format as this, but please rest assured that any similarities are completely coincidental and not done purposely. This was created many moons ago, and only recently did I decide to share with the rest of the world. So, please enjoy, as you will. Thanks.
Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear. For I wear a mask, a thousand masks, masks that I am afraid to take off; and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature to me, but don't be fooled. Please, for god's sake, don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure, that confidence is my name, and coolness is my game; that the waters are calm and I am in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask; ever-varying and ever-concealing. Beneath, lays confusion and fear and solitude, not fulfillment. But I hide this. I don't want anyone to know this.
I panic at the thought of my weaknesses and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a detached sophisticated façade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only hope and I know it. That is, if it's followed by acceptance, if it's followed by love. It is the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself, that I am really worth something. It is the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
I don't like to hide. I don't like to play superficial, phony games. I want to stop playing them. I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me, but you have got to help me. You've got to hold out your hand, even when it seems like the last thing I want. Only you can wipe away the bland stare of the living, breathing, dead from my eyes. Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging, each time you try to understand me because you really care; my heart grows wings. Very small, very feeble wings, but wings none the less! With your power to touch me into feeling, you breathe life into me. I want you to know that.
Who am I, you may wonder? I am someone you know very well. I am you brother. I am me.
Just a bit of random angsty turtle thought-flow for your reading pleasure. Chose yourself which it is, I think of all of them, myself…but that's just me!