Mask by Aziz AlSumaiti

How can I take off the mask that you drew on me?
You used your blood as paint, and my finger tips as your paint brushes.
My skin inspired you to create a person that would satisfy you.
You tricked me into letting you use my body as a canvas for art, and I agreed on that thinking that I would be pleased. You ended up failing me and created perfection.
In your world, being perfect is following your traditions and pleasing your community.
I pretended that I’m pleased with your creation, but really I wanna be the creator.
I want to have the chance to be an artist.
I want to draw something that I will like and not others.
Is that impossible for you to understand?
Is it hard for you to let go of the brush so I can pick it up?
It’s okay, don’t let go.
I’ll just grab it from your hand.

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