The favourite mask.

The Favorite Mask

When I tried to see myself, all I found was a mask — one I’d worn so long, I’d forgotten what lived beneath it.

So I asked: which one is my favorite?

And I knew. Without hesitation. There it was — the face I liked showing me.

But was it truly mine? Or just the prettiest lie I’d grown used to?

Am I even one at all — a single, solid self? Or just a crowd inside my head, each voice in costume, fighting for control, arguing over who gets to be me today?

I fought myself. I tore the voices down. I hit me until the group fell silent.

And when the dust cleared, I looked again — and understood:

None of the masks were me. The real me was never behind them. The real me was the crowd itself.

And now, the crowd — forcefully forged into one — had stopped trying to be what I would call me.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ZtKwTlc4IUhttps://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/zBN08ARBGr