How can I contemplate such ideas in my heart,
These kernels of torment resonating, in part,
A roiling insistence that they shall have a role,
Publicly, venting the private thoughts of my soul?

If in spirit, it is true that we are what we think,
It's a good thing we see, only paper and ink,
Not the thought, nor treason embodied in a word
Unspoken, yet expressed...a theatre, absurd.

A champion is needed to foil this invasion,
Uprising from within, chaotic equation,
Its integers, unknown, familiar, nonetheless,
In this evening of the Id's belated success.

Is repressed the best, since it's taboo to say it?
Society's convincing , "Better not betray it",
Leaves in its wake the maladjusted or the blind,
Ready with two faces, if asked to speak their mind.

To be free to be me, to be proud when out loud
I voice the unspoken, if I choose, to a crowd...
When airing real feelings, long cherished, on my own,
Permission's unasked for, unconcerned to atone.

The saddest tale of all, self-delusion, its name,
Is a farce played by dolts denying it's a game
Destroying the full cast! In the end, each will die
A twisting death, daily, if we to ourselves, lie.

Approval, a child needs for self-esteem to grow,
As adults, attractive, less essential, we know.
As for me, no option will I give another
To usurp an outgrown occasion to smother.

So forewarned is forearmed, and that's as it should be
On having determined I will opt to be me
Sensually, sexually, empirically, as well,
Uninhibited...I may peer out of my shell!

--H. Arlequin 



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