Heir Imposter
I have hidden so long, the art of hiding has faded. There is no artistry in this merciless game of cat and mouse—identity and truth. How are the identical juxtaposed and the unified opposed in this hidden life? I am one mask after another, falling in a procession of dark deceit backlit by honest flashes, peeking in and out between my blurred lines. For years, an infinite string of isolated moments, I have prayed to be what I truly am and to be seen so. Yet, every night I feel my Shepherd pull away my mask, and every morning I find myself trapped behind a new one. What am I, if not a versatile parasite, tagging along in the teaming crowds and gliding through life hated by none so much as myself? A smile’s flash, a winking eye, the whip-crack of a laugh. A silenced scream, a sob wracked chest, a pillow wet with tired tears. What am I? I am these disguises. Maybe the juxtaposed and uniform are merely misplaced and misi...