Soliloquy

This is not a poem really: It's to whom it may concern; or not: All we ever are or can ever become is ourselves, regardless of how we are perceived. We know this, still, we act as though we are something, or someone else, and that our facade will be viewed as the real us. It is. It's not fake really, we're really there, it's just makeup; window dressing, just dressup: what we want to wear on the outside; what we want to show each other as our "self," our style. Sometimes it's our "Sunday-go-to-Meetin' Best" to impress dress, or sometimes it's our "Get-the-Hell Outta'-My -Way," bad boy or girl display. Or we're just teary, and sobby and need to show our feelings more. Maybe sometimes, we tell ourselves, "I'm just being me." Anyway, it's just our "social" self mostly driving the image, and, whoever we present to others as "us," is still us, and how we appear to others, in that moment. The "us" underneath won't change that much although we grow a little every now and then. But we can change what others see as easily as we change our clothes. It does take discipline though, and, sometimes courage, as any style change does. So, who are you today, my friend? What have you donned for life's masquerade?