Expunged

The waltz begins,
cheery and bubbly.
All masks are tightened, eyeholes aligned.
Breath is slightly inhibited but
no one cares because of the glamour
and excitement.

Expunged
slips through my mouth and
sits heavy in my chest.
A deletion, erased.
Something unwanted is removed completely.
I don't know why I care
except that it's my history too.

Feet move in a coordinated dance
and fingers weave through,
following the ebb and flow of the music.
Let the mystery of the mascarade
take all participants to a dreamland.

What right to you have to move on with your life,
pretending like nothing happened?
There is not an eraser big enough to delete
the damage you caused.
I'm still dealing with the fallout.
There is no expungement for me.

I participated in your mascarade.
I straightened your mask.
I danced and laughed with abandon.
I diverted attention away so you always appeared perfect.
I danced your waltz until I couldn't anymore.
I wore your mask until it cracked and fell to the floor. 

It must be exhausting
holding all of the pieces secure in your hand--
never being able to falter or forget. 
Doesn't the canvas get muddied at some point?
Do the cracks in the plaster grow bigger as time fades?
But you keep up the mascarade, always pasting the smile on your face. 

So you can pretend. 
You can expunge.
You can try to control the narrative,
but I will always see you,
behind that mask.

January 19, 2020