“I hate Halloween” I’ve told you on repeat.
I’m too old for trick or treat,
Not sold on trivial rituals,
And lack the spirit for fall festivals.
So I don’t dress up in the garish garb,
Of other’s surface uniforms,
Don’t conform to the playful expectations
Of shallow representations
Of occupations, past civilizations,
And demonization of vice.
Hiding yourself always comes at too steep a price
And I wear my own costume so consistently,
I sometimes insist it’s authentic,
And resist acknowledging the mask.
I can’t juggle more than two:
My natural – instinct, impulse, and all
And it’s mirror twin – twisted, flipped, and carefully clipped
Of all my weakness and sin.
“I hate Halloween” ’cause it’s no different
Than any other day in my shoes.
It’s a masquerade.
All that changes is what face I use.