Do you think I am sweet,
Mild, just a touch
Do you think I am simple,
Naive, gullible, an easy mark
That is my Mask.
Under that is a burned, hideous
Shadow of a face, a tortured breath of soul
Who has been through more than a Dark Ages
Whore. The sulfurous rank of emotional
Poison gases that could run out every pore
– If only I allowed it – could blanch the most dramatic
Shakespeare actor into retiring his art.
Ask for sorrow – you shall have it
In drowning saltwater waves, tsunamis that spare nothing
Neither tree, nor house, nor ship, nor man, nor woman, nor
Ask for anger – you shall have such
Rage as ever blackened out all light from earth, a belching
Cataclysm that tears apart earth’s mantle and let loose the magma core
Itself to blight all existence and suck all stars into a final
Ask for joy – you shall have the
Distilled and perfected spring of mirth bubbled up from childhood
Tales of happily ever after and garnished with maddening giggles that
Almost convince and are only slightly
I can display frightening depths that you have never felt nor can comprehend
Nor can even poetry express. So next time
You think how pleasing I am, how easy to
I only allow you to think that.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.