The Mask

Don't be fooled by me
Don't be fooled by the face I wear,
for I wear a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art which is second nature to me -
but don't be fooled, for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give the impression that I'm secure, sunny and unruffled,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no-one.

But don't believe me. Please.

That surface may seem smooth,
but my surface is my mask.
Beneath this lies no complacency.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion,
in fear and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anyone to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear of being exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant, sophisticated facade to help me to pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only salvation, and I know it - that is,
if it is followed by acceptance,
if it is followed by Love;

it is the only thing which will assure me
of what I can't assure myself -
that I'm worth something.

But I don't tell you this. I don't dare, I'm afraid to - afraid your glance will not
be followed by acceptance, will not be followed by Love.

I'm afraid that you will think less of me,
that you will laugh at me,
and your laugh would kill me!
I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm no good,
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate game,
with a facade of assurance without,
and a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks. And my life becomes a front.

I chatter idly to you of superficialities.
I tell you everything that is really nothing,
and nothing of what is everything -
of what is crying within me.

So when I'm going through my routine,
do not be fooled by what I'm saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what, for survival, need to say but can't.

I dislike hiding - honestly! I dislike the phoney game I'm playing.

I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous and me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that is the last thing that I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of breathing death.
only you can call me to aliveness.

Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings,
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your sensitivity and sympathy and your power of understanding
you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that. I want you to know how important you are to me, how

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble.
You alone can remove my mask.
You alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic and uncertainty,
from my lonely person.

Do not pass me by.
Please do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The more closely you approach me, the more blindly I strike back.

But I am told that love is stronger than walls,
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands
but with gentle hands...for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well,
for I am every man that you meet,
and I am every woman that you meet.

Chair's welcome for our poetry night

I'd like to talk to you all about a subject close to my heart

No one was looking at mental health so we made a start

We wanted to bring it up as an important topic

Because when people ignore it, that's what gets on our wick

We held a meeting last May to see who would come

And since then we've done loads of work and had lots of fun

Fundraising's our aim to bring services to the town

And driving the stigma around it right down

We believe mental health is on a par with the physical stuff

And those who cope with illnesses are really quite tough

It's hard to find doctors who help and can seem like a task

We want there to be services out there when people ask

Thanks for coming to listen to a few poems tonight

We hope you'll think about donating to make the future bright

If you want to come along and get involved in MHAG

There's a monthly meeting, you won't find it a drag

In between we go to lots of different places

So you might think you've already seen our faces

If you want more information please come and find me

Or Beccy Blake who's my right hand lady

For now I'll end this poem and say goodnight

Because some of my rhymes are really quite shi...

A purging of happiness

This poem was written by an anonymous poet and read out at our poetry night by vice-chair Rebecca.

A binding in the Throat -

Metallic mercury mucous blocks Truth.

A pounding inside the Head -

His steel capped boots push and press and crack

The Skull; my Perion.

The fizzing in my Lungs -

Cyanide soup is my oxygen.

A slashing in the Stomach -

Sardonic Satanic slugs slither out from in.

Spewed are thy Organs -

The Intestine, a worm unravelling defencelessley.

Help.

Plonk goes the Liver and Dong goes a Kidney.

What is left?

You have it all.

He has it all.

Him.

A scarred nostalgia for thee, yet a

pleasant narcissim for He.

Now He asks for my Heart, but He took that

portion years ago.

He overpowered it in seconds.

He rusted it in minutes.

He covered it with blistering hate.

And then -

He burned it in wood and fire.

He can have what sits in its place, yes.

The only yes I have ever and will ever give to

Him.

But that is not a Heart, not anymore.

That is a shrivelled reality of He -

It is imprinted with His purge on my childhood.

For this Life is not a Life but an Episode.

That plays over and over and over and over -

We wait for an applause, a record or a pause

We pray that She may take it away

Those melancholy memories

That play in My chapter of a thousand page

book

Hundreds feel the soreness of soiled court

And there is help

In the custom of Victim Support

Friends, don't suffer the torment

For although you may want to lament

Now is the time for us all to ascent

Together.

To the prosperous land of beauties

To the field of finer daisies

There I found my missing Heart

In my friendship and my family.

For it was never taken, just forgotten.

There is light in All darkness

And you Will find it,

My friends.

Never give in and never let them win.