Façade—a short poem

OK, so maybe there will be two books of poetry. I’m probably about 80 percent of the way through the archives, and I have more than 80 pieces. It blows me away to see how much verse I’ve written in the last 27 years—the oldest pieces date back to ‘91. So much of it is simply bad, but quite a lot of it is worth sharing, which I will do. Here’s an old favorite from the boozing days, back when people never got to know the real me; rather, they got to know the person I wanted them to think I was. It’s such a stressful way to live life, and I’m so glad I made it through those days; today, no matter what you think of me, it’s the real me you’re forming that opinion of. It’s so much better to live life this way; I don’t think I’d make it if I had to live with the pretenses these days.

Be well, my friends. We’ll talk soon.

***

“Façade”

Behind locked doors, alone,
finally home
from what you call a stage
and society calls life.
The masks come down;
exit jester and clown.
Left to deal with the lies
from which you shield
your audience’s eyes.