Life is a masquerade ball. Everyone lives with a mask. A fake identity. A role to play. How they want society to see them. A painted-on smile, crystalline eyes, perfect face, hiding flushed cheeks, red eyes, and a broken spirit. Hiding the aftermath of broken trust. The only way to learn to heal is to be broken. Sometimes the mask slips, and you catch a glimpse of their real face. These moments are brief, but a sense of trust passes between the two who share this moment. If they want to be freed from this marionette's life, they must crack the mask. Break the costume, ruin the role. Write your own life, your own story. Don't follow another's commands. Don't hide behind your masks. Whatever's behind the mask is guaranteed to be beautiful. No matter what it looks like. Everyone is beautiful in their own special ways.

Life is a masquerade ball. Everyone hiding their true selves, their identities. Trying to find the one who will finally let you take off your mask, and reveal your face. Often, it is difficult to trust after a betrayal. Someone you thought you could trust, but was just another blank-faced stranger. The pain will push you further back behind your mask. Building a wall to protect your injured spirit. Hoping, yearning, that you will heal someday and find true trust and hope. Until you find that special person, you hurry through life, clutching your mask, dressed up in your costumes, afraid to trust, to hope, to heal. Healing comes from pain. Trust comes from betrayal. Love comes from healing. Healing brings hope.

My paintbrush across the canvas

Dancing to a song only I can hear

The notes soar like a bird in the sky

Its wings like my heart

as you walk in

My paintbrush across the canvas

Painting colors only I can see

Reds, blues, silvers, golds

Swirling across the page like a symphony of hues

My paintbrush across the canvas

Leaves a line across the paper

Like you left a blazing trail across my life

Like a shooting star across the sky

Suddenly the sun dims in comparison to you

My world revolves around you

You are the light of my life

The reason for life

My paintbrush across the canvas.

I know that eventually canvas will rip, tear, age.

But for now, I paint a vibrant story of love, loss, and recovery

My paintbrush across the canvas.

I had a dream

of finding true love

of finding someone to truly love me

of finding someone perfect

of mending my broken heart

of feeling like I belong

of seeing the ones I loved again

of hearing his voice again

of love

of hate

of life

of death

of joy

of sadness

of-

That dream has faded since. I am searching for my reality.

She gave her everything to them.

She cut her hair, and baked it in a pie, and gave it to her son.

"Here, son, eat this pie."

And he did.

And she was content.

She cut her hand, and put it in soup, and gave it to her daughter.

"Here, daughter, eat this soup."

And she did.

And she was content.

She cut out her lungs, and made them into dough, and baked them into cookies, and gave it to her grandson.

"Here, grandson, eat these cookies."

And he did.

And she was content.

She took out her soul, and made it into cake, and gave it to her grandaughter.

"Here, grandaughter, eat this cake."

And she did.

And she was content.

She cut out her heart, and made it into a necklace, and gave it to her beloved.

"Here, my love, a necklace for you."

He put it on.

And she was content.

She laid down on her bed, and took her last breath.

And she was content.