Copy of Thalia and Melpomene
Thalia and Melpomene
The teenage boy shrouds his identity with a veil of superficial technology. He goes by “John Smith”; he is a 127-year-old grandpa with a birthday on January 1st, 1890. Likes on a post matter more than catching up with a childhood friend, number of retweets determines his success.
The middle-aged woman paints a new façade each morning. Unfading scars are covered with powder and foundation, her lips stained blood red. Retouching her eyeliner trumps the midday break, fingernail painting is her pastime.
The singer throws on a wig and sunglasses each day before heading to the recording studio. Made up name, hyped up fame, paparazzi snaps photos at every given chance. Photoshopping her magazine cover comes before accepting natural freckles, a multi-million-dollar empire created through media portrayals.
I can’t help that I lie a lot. False words just fly out of my mouth, with no filter in-between. Honest opinions are lost in the fear of hurting others’ feelings. Counterfeit grins top genuine sorrow, my forged character built up through a web of myths.
We all wear masks. They depict our desires, how we wish to be portrayed. Perhaps someday, we’ll take them off. Who will be underneath?
