|Naked: vulnerable or confident?|
Is it that you wear opinions all too neat, and tailored?
A costume of counterfeit to keep your cheeks from glowing red?
You bite your tongue, turning puce, all to be polite,
Waiting for the question that's sure to cause a fight.
While your skin crawls with hypocrisy,
Brawls with the fallacy,
That underneath is clamouring for clemency,
“Please, dear God, let me be heard!
Stop with the drivel, give me a word!”
But the cloak is pulled tighter, stifling the heckles
Smothering the sound of the honest but reckless.
It's moral mutiny! It's insubordination!
Instead you must practice public relations.
Silencing the clack of the tongue in your head,
As you allow yourself to be too easily fed, wed and taken to bed.
This shroud is a false skin you should shed,
Burst through the cocoon, not afraid to be alone.
There in the flesh, say what you think,
Shrug off the stares, tuts and blinks.
Laugh as they go cross-eyed and stupefied,
Stunned by the audacity that you step outside
Pirouette and pivot!
Gambol and frolic!
Eschewing the accepted, infected established bollocks,
That makes us merely mindless drones, all for profit:
Automated, fixated, fish-eyed, robotic.
Because wearing this clothing, people make assumptions:
That you're okay, assured, a clown at all functions.
The real deceit is wearing a suit that doesn’t fit,
That itches and pulls and disguises the real shit.
Fuck, where's the lust?
It’s smothered into unwitting acceptance,
Crammed into Cinderella’s shoe that seemed to fit first.
Not now! Every step, it cuts into your marrow
Leaving it hollow, a fertile field fallow,
As your real passion flows out in furrows.
It rapidly goes.
Leaving the bones empty-full of echoing space,
A place that rattles with grace, but no passion.
You wear it with sad smiling face, this deceptive fashion.