The Wounded Reader
Some say a man
aught not say things out loud
might prick the pride
of proud readers
it is out of context
a faux pas as they see
but does that mean they have the right to mute me?
or get terribly offended
staying silent and reclusive
figuring one prose is how I really feel
I am not a mirror
nor yet even a cube
an infinite well of reflection
so are you
Whats wrong with taking a body of work
understanding new things
as quirks of the whole?
does every thing one writes
need to be beautiful to be shared?
people want to know the real me
all the parts that aren't fit for sight
parts of the me
views of the past and present
knowledge of the yet to be
an honesty to my inner voice
even if part of it is in contempt of me
whats wrong with this world gone soft
when they must be petted
made to feel comfortable all the time
where they cannot take reflection
yielding a gold mine
even if things weren't meant for you
it still gives value to know they exist
whats the point in being honest
when in a bad mood
one is called a cyst
it is odd that one is always being viewed
as nothing that was written is the real you
believing only the negative
not knowing that it is only part of the whole
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