everything is tinted now,
faded by the distance provided by years
of other experiences, but still clear enough –
tears,
hot
salty
carving their lines into the cliff faces of my cheeks
splashing into the sea below.
pale wood with these new puddles that rest atop it
raindrops on a roof
sea-spray even though we were never near the coast.
it’s been almost seven years since we lived there
but the address still rolls off the tongue
as though we never left.
every day i go home and
expect the old and worn-down navy carpet,
the sea with poison powder crushed into the edges,
curled and coiling carcasses
their sectioned corpses in the corners.
and better there than crawling around our feet
better there than crossing the hall,
coming into view when others come over.
we pretend we are better than we are
because that’s what everyone does
because all of life is just acting.
because all we do is pretend.
we play up our expected role because of the:
cadence of our voices
we hide the struggle because:
that is what we were taught
and it is all i know now.
secrecy
lies
pretence.
and it is
masks
upon
masks
upon
masks,
coating layers and layers of
a carefully-cultivated identity.
