Spirit
Mask is protection, also confinement.
I put the mask on, to merge in.
It feels safe, soft.
Also silenced, deafened, blinded.
Only seeing the circle beneath my feet.
This is probably not the world.
Who am I really?
A mask is both protection and confinement.
I wear it to blend in: soft, seemingly safe.
Yet inside, the world turns muted: silenced, deafened, half-blind.
My vision narrows to the small circle beneath my feet,
a reminder that this cannot be the whole world.
Behind the mask, I ask myself:
Who am I when I am no longer hiding?
The anthropomorphic mask, Spirit , embodies inherited silence and self-restriction—concealing grief and identity to meet familial and social expectations, until its removal becomes an act of voicing the unspoken.