Before Skin Turns to Dust

They attend his masquerade with their words exposed… And he fails to see them.

He glances at the tanned honey that spreads between the sun and their bones, criticizes the plump layering their flesh, mocks the rolling of their Rs… And he’s sure he knows them.

I wonder… if he’ll ever understand that none can see a soul without reading into her days, without choosing to dance in his old hiking boots, without smiling through the clench of our broken teeth.

see the heart and bone
before they’re whitewashed by life,
and dreams turn to dust

.
a
(not so) wee note…
– I wrote this poem almost two months ago, for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights. But didn’t post it then because it was too long to also link to a prompt at The Garden. So, I wrote a second poem. A few days after that, Rommy published “Faded, Not Forgotten”, and we were spooked (in a good way) by the similarities between the words we chose to express our ideas of masks. The motifs themselves were not such a big surprise, of course… I suspect that every person (with a beating heart and a thinking brain) is a tad worried (and thinking furiously) right now. And if the heart and brain in question happen to be of Hispanic descent, love children who aren’t White, are non-Christians, and so on… well, then the worrying gets even more complex.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform).

“Behind the Mask of Words”, by Cassandra Black
via

Under Gothic Masks

In the beginning, there was energy
seeping out of hearts and guts
and souls
fueling the world,
making our everywhere and everything.

We shaped it (him? her? Our choice…
individually)
in our own image;
filled it with screams and fears
and hopes, wants, unknowns and…
so many desires.

We masked it—with nicer pieces
of us—shrouding the daunting,
and called it Everything…

Uncontainable
energy ripped off ironclad camouflage,
mind-crafted lips spat back
our old, old, old words;

we ran and hid
under Gothic masks,
having forgotten We
once made Everything.

.
for Magpie Tales 280
(I wasn’t going to write anything for this on, but then Rommy got inside my head;
the woman is a menace, I tell you…)

Giant Iron Mask
via