You know what really riles me up?
The pretty (stupid) masks we wear.
In our hiding, we’re such frauds.
I’m such a fraud.
I can’t take it anymore.
As I gently (furiously) peel off layer by layer,
Painstaking piece by painstaking piece,
I can’t take it anymore:
The way we think we know better.
The way we skim over one new-age article and suddenly we’re so evolved.
The way we walk arrogantly around, pretending we’re as enlightened as the Buddha himself.
I’ll lecture you:
Useless fact after useless fact,
With excruciating precision.
But, really, I just don’t want you to see me.
Maybe I’ll portray myself as full of “wisdom” and “truth,”
Putting you subtly down.
Cause, really, I just don’t want you to see me.
It isn’t spiritual.
It isn’t even healthy.
It’s fucking fake and it’s hurting people:
You, most of all.
Me, most of all.
Cause, really, we just don’t want anyone to see us.
With a plethora of phrases (lies) to plaster to our masks,
Only weighing us down heavier, heavier, heavier.
Only increasing our does of spiritual morphine,
Higher, higher, higher.
Dazed, numb, dizzy and completely out of touch,
“No, I’m not hurt.”
“I don’t let anything bother me.”
“I never get angry/sad/jealous/insecure.”
And on and on and on and on and on…
Oh, we already have.
I already have.
Hiding, hiding, hiding.
From here behind the secret safety of my well-crafted disguise,
The eye-holes aren’t big enough for me to see—
But, falsity and emotional suppression are spreading like sickness,
Infecting us one by one.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
We don’t have to be this way.
I don’t have to be this way.
This pretending, this fakeness—
Makes it all so fucking confusing.
Where are you?
Where am I?
I can’t see you.
I can’t even see me.
How much crap can we cling onto until we’re unrecognizable to ourselves?
We don’t need to be taught positivity.
We need to be taught about real-ness.
We need to be taught to sit with uncomfortable feelings.
To embrace so-called “negative” emotions.
To see the beauty in all the shades of our life experiences.
Even the ugly ones.
(Especially the ugly ones.)
It’s not all puppies and rainbows and rainbow colored puppies that are actually made out of sickeningly sweet saccharine syrup.
I’m slapping myself in the face to wake the fuck up to my reality.
I’m ripping my mask off.
No, I don’t want to do this.
I need to do this.
The greatest (scariest) reveal of all:
Here I am.
The real me.
Here, in front of you.
In front of me.
I see I don’t know a god damn thing—but neither do you.
But, thank god, we’re there in that darkness together.
Thank god, we’re naked, struggling in that darkness together.
Let’s not forget how much we have in common.
It’s that tangled thread connecting my pain and confusion to your pain and confusion.
Do you see it?
If you do, too:
Can we just stop and be fucking honest and say “I don’t know?”
Say “I’m confused.”
Say “I’m in pain.”
Say “I need help.”
Say “I’m jealous.”
Say, “I’m insecure.”
Say “You hurt me.”
Say: “I’m scared.”
Stop trying to be “enlightened” or “evolved” or “cool” and just be yourself.
You’re so fucking beautiful.
I want to see you.
I want to see me.
Let’s put our fucking fronts, facades, and masks aside.
Let’s step out behind our brilliantly beautiful (fake) disguises—
And rip that fucking mask off.
Let’s stop, for one second, and be real.
Because I want real.
And, I wonder, if maybe, you do too?
Let’s get past the prettiness of our masks—
and rip those fuckers off.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
Editor: Emily Bartran