There is a part of me that wants to show this part of anxiety so badly. There is part of me that is addicted to the mask of beauty. It’s the mask that kept me going, made people believe that I was worthy. Even though I felt pain inside.
Couple years ago I showed a little bit of my pain, then a lot and then, everything just slipped.
Now I am in a new home. With people who even adore me, but it’s the wrong part of me. Or not? For some reason they seem to look behind the mask. They carefully take it off and look what’s behind it.
They still think it’s beautiful. The pain is there, but silent. I am afraid what happens, when the voice of my pain becomes free, and people become aware of the loudness within me.
I see they love this silence, the whispering sadness. The adoration of my tears is what keeps me in his arms. So I stay, silent, whispering and full of love.