Sharp, agonizing, painful… so excruciating – She wants to switch it off. Day after day she masquerades her sorrow into joy. The mask she wears to the world vanishes in private. Incarcerated by her real torment and fears, longing to be freed but afraid the world will ridicule her imperfections. She can do no wrong, say no wrong, feel no wrong in front of those who know her – how could she if she is to remain flawless. Her inner most scars continue to be cloaked for fear of deception. She wants to withdraw, fade away… but her mouth sings to her ears oh so melodiously, but who is to judge me? And by what standard? What you see is not always what you get on the surface, and long abandoned is the conceptual perfect. This clandestine, indiscernible truth. I define me. This cloth is merely just so. My beauty is flawed yet forthcoming and undeniable. And I embrace me, because flawless is God.
- Dalia and Mr. K
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