Dialogue
in my head,
words with myself
and everybody else,
words which penetrate and slip
through the thin veil
cloaking this world
and another,
another I’ve created
within four cranial walls.
Syllables scream,
each one pulling at the lips
of my inner voice,
a voice desperate
to be heard,
not churned
into empty statements,
packaged produce
of a world
hellbent on securing
social conformity.
In this other world,
my inner self,
intrinsically me,
is free,
free
to dance,
to sing
and live
what we call fantasy,
nothing’s tangible.
Through a fog
standards and loved ones
have blown over,
billowing cruelly
from mouths
which profess they know you, truly,
from politicians who say they care
and strangers who like to stare.
My words,
my voice
echoes,
until no longer heard
except from within,
my four cranial walls.
