Mask

Child in thought and manner,
so secure to self, to others,
no waves, no mountains,
placid water.

boring.

But let the lightning slash!
the thunder!
They run for cover.
How dare you! they sputter.
Go back.  Go back to Mother Womb.

I can't!  I scream!
I can't, I mutter.
These tumbling thoughts
they soar!
Leap!
Push.
Prod.
Beat.

This pain - FEELING!!
Grand explosion!
Ulcer.
Headache.
Mental break.
Too late -
I feel emotion!

Have faith, they croon.
Return to Mother Womb.

I can't, I smile,
shake my head.
In that soft, secure darkened space
I'd lose my face
Soon be dead again.

You don't fit
into our world.
You're insane.

There are other worlds,
Somewhere,
Someday . . .

Are you ready? they ask.

I sigh.
Slip on the mask,
again.

Mother and Daughter

©
Diana DeMille
October 10, 1998