The Mask She Wears
- Shannon Brown
- Jan 6
- 2 min read
The Mask She Wears was written during a time when therapy asked me to do the hardest thing: slow down and name what I had spent a lifetime avoiding.
It came from sessions filled with unpacking, of emotions, memories, and survival instincts that formed long before I understood them. It came from learning the language of feelings I was never taught, and from sitting with a version of myself shaped by a time period that has quietly, but also loudly, influenced my life.
I didn’t have a choice in what happened.
But I chose what to do with it.
This poem is raw. It is not comfortable. Like much of my work, it does not soften the edges or offer easy resolutions. It exists in honesty rather than polish.
The Mask She Wears is both a mirror and a release. It holds the tension between who we learn to be in order to survive and who we are beneath it all. Writing it was part of my healing, an act of choosing to make meaning, to make a difference, and to give voice to survival rather than letting the past rule my life.
This poem is shared with care.
Please read gently, and only when you feel safe to do so.
The Mask She Wears
By Shannon Brown
No one sees the pain behind the mask she wears
A strong smile,
The confidence,
It's all a facade to hide her tears.
A little girl in her room,
Woken by a sound,
The sound of running,
Doors are slamming,
Yelling and then a pound.
She opened up the door,
To see her brother on the floor,
Her daddy's hand in the air,
She froze in spot watching,
All she could do was stare.
Horrified by what she saw
A single tear fell down her cheek,
Her mother jumped between the blow
Trying to help her kid.
Her mother yells,
Go to your room,
But her feet were glued to the floor,
Her father swung down at her mother,
And looked over to her.
He started walking toward her
The smell of booze in the air
She quickly went in and locked the door
Then slid under the bed in fear.
She put her fingers in her ears,
And hummed a happy song,
She was scared for her brother,
And horrified for her mom.
Footsteps fade as her father walked away,
The quietness ended with a loud bang.
Slam, bang, crack,
"open the fucking door"
Her father slammed through the wood with a crowbar
All it took was one good whack.
Curled on the floor she began to cry,
Hearing the slapping outside her room,
Counting the blows and flinching each time,
One, ouch
Two: Stop!
Three: scream,
She put her fingers back in her ears to block out the sound,
What had she done to deserve this?
Would it all be over soon?
On many occasions this would happen,
Abuse in different ways to her.
She hid the scars,
She shed the tears,
But never for anyone to be heard.
No one sees the pain behind the masks she wears,
You wouldn't guess by looking,
She's strong on the outside,
Scarred on the inside,
Bruises fade, but the memories stay within.
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