By Sharaf Awad Momen
We’ve passed the age of superficial discrimination,
Where our skins have already been engineered to fit in with the rest,
Mirrors now reflect more than just our appearance,
Thoughts grind and tear your mind as your eyes glare at your reflection,
Only to have your own gaze pierce right through you,
Only to be constantly reminded that we are so very aware of who we are when no one isn’t,
Because it hurts to be looked at by yourself, your conscience in its doppelganger form.
It hurts when your imperfections in personality clothes itself in skin,
It’s screaming desperately, pleading for you to find acceptance so it can escape this immaterial world,
But that can’t happen. Nobody can know you at your core,
So you desperately seek makeup that alters your personality,
Until you find one appropriate enough to finally make you fit in with the rest.
It comes to a stage where you begin to listen and believe the lies you tell everybody,
Where you begin to think of the makeup on your personality as the skin itself,
But when you go to reassure that your superficial qualities are as perfect as everyone else’s,
You scream at the imposter,
“I know you better than you know yourself”,
You notice you’ve given yourself up to the extent that you’ve transformed into your mental state,
Only visible through the glass that traps you,
While the imposter you’ve tried to become,
Lives and breathes in the real world, where you should be,
Looking at talking, like everybody should be.
Doing what it can,
To fit in with the rest.