A/N: This is a poem-fic I wrote based on Charles C. Finn’s Please Hear What I’m Not Saying. The poem is a great piece of work that I think applies to everyone in today’s world. Oh, and it contains spoilers for "Play With Fire"
***
Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I'm afraid to take off
And none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
I was doing a random search online for poetry, and one site that I found had this poem that described me right down to the core. I printed it out and I now have it sitting next to me on the desk. I never thought that someone else could feel the way I do. The words are true, about me wearing a mask. I wasn’t always like this, you know. I really was carefree, cool, and secure. It all changed after the explosion.
My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.
After the explosion, I came to a realization. Before then, I had no problems acting like a teenager, because I felt like one. I was still young, so I had an excuse for my radical behavior in the lab. While lying in the hospital bed, I realized that I couldn’t live forever, and that life isn’t all it may seem to be. I had worked in the lab, running samples, so I had never seen death like my co-workers, and I really didn’t feel the impact of it. Now, I know what death is like. Not physical death, but the death of a soul. A part of me died in the explosion, and I let it. It was time for me to grow up. So now, I still play the part of crazy Greg, the lab rat for my co-workers, that way they don’t know who I have become.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to. I'm afraid to.
I had never known love before. I thought I knew what love was; I loved my mom, Papa Olaf and Nana Olaf, but that wasn’t this kind of love. No, what I felt was beyond that. I know I had blacked out after the explosion, but I remember waking to find Gil by my side. I still remember the haunted look in his blue eyes. The blue was gone, replaced by a shield of black. I felt his hand in mine, and tears fell down his face. It was then that I first felt love. But there was no way he could love me back, and so I was even more determined to put on my façade.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.
So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a façade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of Masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.
I sometimes wish that Grissom could see though my mask. Every now and then, I think he does. After I went back to the lab, he found me when my hands were shaking. I faltered then, hoping he would save me from myself, tell me he loves me too. He did ask if I was okay, but Greg the lab rat was always okay, and while at work, that’s who I was. I had to say I was all right, no one would understand if I didn’t. I wanted Grissom to, though. I had hoped that with everything he knew, he could help me. But he had never been good with people, so I had my hopes up for nothing.
I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings --
very small wings,
but wings!
It wasn’t Grissom who helped me in the end. He was supportive, yes, but not helpful. My salvation came in the package of Nick. I never would have guessed, but he saw right though me. After shift one night, he took me to breakfast and questioned me about everything, admitting he knew I was faking it all along. I told him I was fine, trying to hide again, but the stubborn fool wouldn’t let me. Instead, he loved me.
With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator --
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from the shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.
As I sit here writing this, I dedicate it to you, Nicky. You helped pick me up when I was down, and you still do. Every time you hold me and kiss my forehead, you help me. I feel loved, and alive again. Every day I get closer to feeling like my old self. I hope you stay with me, even if it is for selfish reasons. I give my heart to you, take it.
Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books may say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.
I know there will be times when I feel useless and want to give up. I am not used to someone loving me, helping me, leading me. I have done things on my own for years, always independent. It is going to be hard for me to go back, but with you by my side, I know I can. Just do as you always have done, and support me, guide me, and even push me. I love you, Nicky. Always and forever.
Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.
***
Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I'm afraid to take off
And none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
I was doing a random search online for poetry, and one site that I found had this poem that described me right down to the core. I printed it out and I now have it sitting next to me on the desk. I never thought that someone else could feel the way I do. The words are true, about me wearing a mask. I wasn’t always like this, you know. I really was carefree, cool, and secure. It all changed after the explosion.
My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.
After the explosion, I came to a realization. Before then, I had no problems acting like a teenager, because I felt like one. I was still young, so I had an excuse for my radical behavior in the lab. While lying in the hospital bed, I realized that I couldn’t live forever, and that life isn’t all it may seem to be. I had worked in the lab, running samples, so I had never seen death like my co-workers, and I really didn’t feel the impact of it. Now, I know what death is like. Not physical death, but the death of a soul. A part of me died in the explosion, and I let it. It was time for me to grow up. So now, I still play the part of crazy Greg, the lab rat for my co-workers, that way they don’t know who I have become.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to. I'm afraid to.
I had never known love before. I thought I knew what love was; I loved my mom, Papa Olaf and Nana Olaf, but that wasn’t this kind of love. No, what I felt was beyond that. I know I had blacked out after the explosion, but I remember waking to find Gil by my side. I still remember the haunted look in his blue eyes. The blue was gone, replaced by a shield of black. I felt his hand in mine, and tears fell down his face. It was then that I first felt love. But there was no way he could love me back, and so I was even more determined to put on my façade.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.
So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a façade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of Masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.
I sometimes wish that Grissom could see though my mask. Every now and then, I think he does. After I went back to the lab, he found me when my hands were shaking. I faltered then, hoping he would save me from myself, tell me he loves me too. He did ask if I was okay, but Greg the lab rat was always okay, and while at work, that’s who I was. I had to say I was all right, no one would understand if I didn’t. I wanted Grissom to, though. I had hoped that with everything he knew, he could help me. But he had never been good with people, so I had my hopes up for nothing.
I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings --
very small wings,
but wings!
It wasn’t Grissom who helped me in the end. He was supportive, yes, but not helpful. My salvation came in the package of Nick. I never would have guessed, but he saw right though me. After shift one night, he took me to breakfast and questioned me about everything, admitting he knew I was faking it all along. I told him I was fine, trying to hide again, but the stubborn fool wouldn’t let me. Instead, he loved me.
With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator --
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from the shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.
As I sit here writing this, I dedicate it to you, Nicky. You helped pick me up when I was down, and you still do. Every time you hold me and kiss my forehead, you help me. I feel loved, and alive again. Every day I get closer to feeling like my old self. I hope you stay with me, even if it is for selfish reasons. I give my heart to you, take it.
Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books may say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.
I know there will be times when I feel useless and want to give up. I am not used to someone loving me, helping me, leading me. I have done things on my own for years, always independent. It is going to be hard for me to go back, but with you by my side, I know I can. Just do as you always have done, and support me, guide me, and even push me. I love you, Nicky. Always and forever.
Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.