Mask - a poem about living authentically even under the weight of expectations

Mask

The mask is ornate—
giant diamonds inlaid,
24 karat gold as a frame,
and the eyes that fall upon it
are green—an emerald so supreme,
if you know what I mean.

It is awe-inspiring.
It is one of a kind.
And it is heavy.
Deceptively heavy.

Still, I cherish this facial armor
that presents itself as an accessory.
I've worn it for a lifetime
and don't know what features
may lie beneath it.

Perhaps none.
Perhaps I am no one
and nobody is home.

No.
I tell lies.
I have seen myself bare as bone,
scraped to nakedness,
and I am as gem-studded spiritually
as this weight-of-the-world covering.

I could rise to the heights either way—
stripped of adornments or swimming in gold lamé.
I could alternate between the two
depending on my swinging moods,
and still fly to the moon.
But I stay here in this room.

I've got some plans to jot and boxes to tick
before I set my heart aflame
and make my life more than a list.
I'll begin by loving both the costume and my skin—
by sharing the performance
and the one who resides within.
I will not let past chapters dictate what's on this page.
I'll walk heavy when it's worth it
and I'll disrobe to escape.