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The Mask of Thorns
He is a man of FEAR hiding behind a Mask of THORNS, treading softly through corridors of silence, where whispers echo like ghosts. His heart is a secret diary with pages torn.
In the mirror, he sees fragments of a boy, eyes heavy with untold stories, lips sealed with the weight of unshed tears, and hands clenching dreams that dare not soar.
Each step is a careful dance, a choreography of caution and disguise. He is the shadow in the corner of the room, the invisible ink in a book of lies.
He paints on a smile, bright as summer dawn, but inside, storms rage in colors unseen. Thunderclaps of longing and lightning bolts of shame form a tempest within, masked by the mundane.
They say, "Be brave, be true, stand tall," but courage feels like a distant star. He is anchored to this earth by roots of fear, each breath a struggle, each day a war.
His words are knots tied tight, speech like a foreign tongue, in a world that doesn't see the scars or the thorns that make up his song.
He is a man of FEAR hiding behind a Mask of THORNS, dreaming of a day when masks can fall, when love can bloom in open light, and the boy in the mirror can stand proud and tall.
For now, he writes his story in whispers, ink of pain on paper thin as hope, waiting for the dawn when shadows flee, and his heart can finally, freely, elope.
© Dylan_Tom
#pridemonth #pride #lgbtq
In the mirror, he sees fragments of a boy, eyes heavy with untold stories, lips sealed with the weight of unshed tears, and hands clenching dreams that dare not soar.
Each step is a careful dance, a choreography of caution and disguise. He is the shadow in the corner of the room, the invisible ink in a book of lies.
He paints on a smile, bright as summer dawn, but inside, storms rage in colors unseen. Thunderclaps of longing and lightning bolts of shame form a tempest within, masked by the mundane.
They say, "Be brave, be true, stand tall," but courage feels like a distant star. He is anchored to this earth by roots of fear, each breath a struggle, each day a war.
His words are knots tied tight, speech like a foreign tongue, in a world that doesn't see the scars or the thorns that make up his song.
He is a man of FEAR hiding behind a Mask of THORNS, dreaming of a day when masks can fall, when love can bloom in open light, and the boy in the mirror can stand proud and tall.
For now, he writes his story in whispers, ink of pain on paper thin as hope, waiting for the dawn when shadows flee, and his heart can finally, freely, elope.
© Dylan_Tom
#pridemonth #pride #lgbtq
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