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There was once a man in a mask,

Performing upon a grand stage for all to see.

He always managed to appear happy

While he secretly hated his job,

But as long as the mask was on,

He could fool us all.

The mask said he was happy,

But his face said he was depressed.

Playing the part of the fool for so long,

Having to hear nothing but laughter towards him.

Soon, the character became the man,

Because the man no longer enjoyed himself.

But no one could see behind the mask.

That he carried destruction in his hands,

And waited to release it upon our eyes.

Without warning, he laid out upon the stage

With tears streaming underneath the mask

Holding a handful of screws and a drill.

He waited...

The crowd hushed.

"What else will this fool do?"

His fellow performers threw him a dress.

We all burst into laughter.

Then he horrified us all.

He took a screw and aimed it at his mask.

He took the drill and forced it in.

Blood soon overtook the tears.

He and the mask became one.

We listened to the metal scraping the plastic,

The screw ripping the flesh,

The drill fighting through the bone.

We all watched him...

He stood to his feet and lifted his hands,

Faced the crowd and began to chant,

Claimed he was no longer a man,

But a woman.

He took the dress and threw it on.

Forget the blood seeping into the seams,

Turn your eyes from the damaged face,

Do not pry into why he did such a thing,

We have been entertained!

Such brilliance!

So much bravery!

See the scene unravel into the tragedy

As we applaud and cheer

Like this man has fought a war and won.

Watch as we shower him in flowers,

Only so the critics can call him the best actor,

And hand him a badge of honor.

For he really thinks he is a woman.

He curtsies in acceptance,

Drenching the stage in blood,

Waving to the crowd that will never ponder what's behind the mask.

Just play a good fool and we'll be happy.

Leave the blood stains for added flare.

Counselors are overrated.

We'd rather have the story

Of a man pretending to be a woman

Soaked in blood layered over tears.

Place your hand on your stomach.

Now you will carry a child.

Run blood between your legs.

Now you will also have periods.

It's all in good fun.

We know you still produce sperm.

We just want realism

Allowing all to see the pain.

Open up the stage to judgmental priests

So we can see a predictable clash.

Invite in the supportive fools

So he can have a family.

And then we can all be touched when God shows His face,

Because we know He will smite him,

And nothing will shield his expression of terror,

As if the mask is glass.

The stage floods with misery,

As the talkative state their opinions,

The fearful cower in corners,

And the confused pick sides.

But where is He?

Where is the Judge?

We need Him to deliver the answer we all ask ourselves…

Is this right?

Suddenly, the theater roared with thunder,

Lights shut down from lack of power.

The only light upon the stage emanated from Christ.

Then we all hushed again.

Will He do it!?

Will He strike him down in anger!?

Will we see his complete destruction!?

Jesus lifted His hand to the masked fool's face,

He dragged a finger under his eyes,

As if wiping the tears away.

It is then we saw the tragedy,

For Christ wept at the sight of the man.

Enough tears to soak his sleeves,

Which He used to wipe the blood from his face.

He held him by the shoulders,

Taking a look at his soft skin.

Then He embraced him.

The man fell to his knees,

Cracking open the mask

To confirm what we all knew.

He was lost in sadness,

And was too afraid to admit it.

But the Lord knelt with him,

And held him like a long, lost friend.

The man with much pain in his face.


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