Filed under: Poetry
After my debut as a poet here, I noticed how terrible the poem was, so I want this one to be the official first poem and I hope y’all like it, it’s called Kamen (Or mask in Japanese).
The porcelain mask placed upon her face
Hides us from her, and exposes us to grace,
Except she’s far from that,
For the mask she wears, hides the face of a rat
The painted red lips,
Are all just an eclipse,
The red ribbons hanging from it,
Are not pulling it off a single bit
The same ribbons she used to her advantage
Was overbearing work that she couldn’t manage,
She tripped on them and fell
And with that, so did her protective shell
As the true person stood up, The mask remained on the floor,
And with that done, the fact was even worse to ignore,
She was free from her curse,
But her soul didn’t change, her goal was still to disperse
Little by little, the shards covered her face again,
She wanted to take them, even though she felt the pain,
The pieces were cutting her face,
But she had already embraced the idea to replace
It was too late, and everybody knew it by that time,
They were just tools of a plan so sublime
What can’t kill you only makes you stronger,
And it made her famous a lot longer
She won, she gained the audience to call attention
People were used as her retention,
But not 1000 words can cure her now,
For to that audience, she did end with a bow
And what’s done can’t be undone,
And she has just begun,
But there are still mindless slaves of her possession
Who contribute to her obsession
Because that’s the saddest of all,
For this way, her mask will never fall,
To reveal the scarred face of a lost soul
Of a weak human with no control
