
Ceci n'est pas une pipe.
Everyone knows,
When they speak to me...
Everyone knows
My story.
They know,
They know,
Of my travels
Of my sexuality
Of my hopes
Of my abuse
Of my greatest achievements
Of my breakfast.
There is nothing
No onw knows about me.
My voice,
My voice,
Tells all.
My face is revealed by my voice.
That,
That is my mask.
My voice tells all about me
But it cannot speak
The language of my brain.
Things are lost:
The emotion,
The intention,
The truth.
My voice hides these
To protect
My brain.
My brain
Is a terrifying place to be.
It cannot be handled
By anyone but me.
My voice
Cleans the thoughts -
Rearranges them -
To suit my audience.
I am not me.
Me is a horrible thing to be.
I am only
Who everyone needs me to be.