I am not one of them, I promise.

Each morning I wake up late and put on my thrift store jean jacket and glasses too big for my face and meet you at the corner stop. Your hair is wild and fierce and your tie dye t-shirt has that soft look of being well worn. Your high heels put you at five foot nothing but you have attitude like a giant to make up for your size.

Together we walk along the mirror covered wall, stretching high above our heads, dividing us from them. With each step we take our reflections follow us, reminding us with each step which side we reflect.

Your hair is too much, too red, too messy. Your crooked front tooth taints your full faced grin. My hair is a muddy brown and my eyes don’t shine like they should. A big smile on my face is rare and far from flashy and bold.

It scares me to think of what is going on on the other side of that wall.

During the day sounds that must be intended as laughter seep through the cracks and make you giggle next to me. They flash bright lights and blare meaningless noise that is distracting at best

but at night,

at night broken heartstrings are plucked softly and the melodies of loneliness and pain drift up and over and out into the darkness.

I’m not one of them, I promise.

But I could maybe make it through the gates if I wanted to.. if I really tried I know I could;

sucked in my stomach,

lifted my chin,

drilled my insecurities deeper into the cavities of my soul,

lightened my mood,

left behind my passions that would be easily misunderstood as “nerdy” or “unproductive”

I’m not one of them.. but I could be.

I could do it.

I could play the part,

walk in tall and confident leaving my dignity in the back pocket of the guard out front.

I can see it now..

still me, but a more confident, beautiful me.

Yes, definitely more beautiful

and maybe a bit skinnier too.

I could shed a few pounds.

That me definitely looks happier.

She must be right?

How could she be that beautiful and not be happy? She has to be happy.

maybe I’ll wait in line for a little bit, I could just check it out today…

your curls faded into the crowd.

If I wanted to be one of them, I would have it easier than most. Asking for help would be the hard part but once I was in it would be simple. I would sit back and let the artists paint my face thicker and thicker. The paint would cover that scar on my chin and make me two shades tanner. I would sit back and let the brushes fly until the only recognizable feature would be the blacks of my eyes. They would carve away pieces of my body until it fit into the mold this world decided is something to be admired; something beautiful. Then, when they were finished, they would tie ropes around my waist and hoist me up higher for the works in progress to see.

I would be beautiful.

They would stop and stare and take photographs of the masterpiece we’d created together.

I would be one of them.

I would look down feeling sorry for those still chipping away at their faults,

weighed down by their imperfections and desires to be different. It’s so much easier if you just give in and let them fix you. They know what they’re doing I promise.

Can’t you see my smile?

It’s perfect.

The darks of my eyes would look left and I would see the pink painted toes of a girl with smaller legs and straighter teeth than mine. My eyes would shift to my reflection and I would admire the artwork before me. I would barely recognize myself.

I would scan my body head to toe searching for one more thing to let go of.

If I could just raise up a little higher, I would be that much happier.

I could sacrifice my music preference or maybe that jean jacket that I love. They told me it was ugly, I didn’t listen. I can be so stubborn sometimes. Yeah, I could let that go.

It’s just a jacket, I’d still be me.

It would slip off my shoulders and my back and make a long descent toward the ground. I would feel my body being lifted higher and it would feel good. The girl with the pink toenails would look at me through her mask with tired eyes. I would find myself hanging amongst three or four humans with faces that matched mine and my mask would smile at theirs for an instant before their eyes would return to the blank stare into the mirror wall.

I would look down and scream “RUN” to the girls waiting in line outside the gate.

But no one would hear me.

The first thing they do when you walk in is fill your ears and shade your eyes.

I would know it was all bullshit,

Yeah, I would have known the whole time.

Or at least that would be what I would imagine,

it’s not like I would ever be caught dead on that side of the wall.

I would never want to be like them. Of course not, I am so very happy with who I am. I live in a beautiful chaos and the secrets I hide behind soft smiles never get old.

But if I did want to I could...be there floating high above the crowds choking on this plaster I let them glue to my cheeks.

But I would never want that.

I turn from my imperfect reflection and look to you, your curly fire curls pulling me back to focus. You put your arm around me and pull me in, shouting into my ear over the noise,

“Thank God we got you the hell out of there”

...

Sometimes masks grow deeper than you think.