Thalia and Melpomene

Why does it always feel like playing pretend? With masks and makeup painted over the frowns, voices lowered and raised in the hopes of fulfilling a fantasy for the viewer in the corner.
Why am I so scared of being me?
Why can’t I let go of the anxiety?
Why is fear the only one that rises to the surface in a sea of emotions?
How many times must the masks be glued back together before they are just little granules of sand in a forgotten time?
At least once more.
For you, the viewer in the corner.