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We all have things we wish we could change: small mistakes and regrets that we want to forget. They stay in our minds, like skeletons in the closet, holding us back from being our true selves. So, we wear layers: bright smiles and rehearsed gestures that come naturally.

Beneath our layers, we are vulnerable and exposed, with our true emotions showing in solitude. Even though we hide these truths from others, we recognize them within ourselves. In these honest moments, we connect with our humanity, leading us to reflect on our true selves.

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In the quiet shadows of the mind, something stirs.
Bones long buried, their edges sharp, their presence sure.
They whisper in voices soft, persistent, low,
Tales of every misstep, every “no.”

They aren’t monstrous, though they seem grotesque,
Just the relics of choices, disguised in distress.
A word unsaid, a love betrayed, a fear deferred;
All living still, in cupboards undisturbed.

We walk through the world as stitched-together beings,
With masks as delicate as gossamer wings.
We fashion our armour from polite smiles and grace,
Hiding the wounds no hand can trace.

A perfect mask; flawless, seamless, bright,
But behind it, trembles a flickering light.
For every carefully crafted persona we wear,
A piece of truth is lost somewhere.

When all the masks are shed, what remains?
Flesh that quivers, heartache, and stains.
The clothes may shield but never truly hide
The essence that lingers; bare, untied.

No shame is stronger than this ache to be seen,
With all our truths, messy and unclean.
For beneath every mask, every carefully built wall,
There lies the same nakedness in us all.

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To stand naked in spirit before life or others takes a courage that is unfamiliar. It’s a daring act of rebellion in a world that demands we be polished and composed. There is terror in being truly seen, yet also freedom in shedding every disguise and embracing who we are.

We are flawed, but not broken. The shame and regrets we bear are not burdens meant to isolate us; they connect us as humans. Beneath our facades, we are all vulnerable and seeking acceptance. Perhaps the beauty of life lies not in the secrets we guard, but in the truths we dare to share.

For in the end, no matter what clothes we wear, what masks we craft, we are all the same underneath; just bones, waiting to be held, waiting to be seen, and hoping, somehow, to begin again.

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