The honest
confessions
of a mind
unencumbered
with the
trappings of social
morays is
seemingly unwelcome.
The line
between what I
want to say
and what I can
actually say
is quite strict.
It’s a tightrope.
The thought
police would
have a field
day with all the
impure,
aggressive, and bizarre,
images that
flash through my mind.
I can’t
really say anything about
them though,
as polite society would
not be too
keen on my excesses of
random
musings.
I am certain
I’ve taken the joke
too far, I’ve
been too rude, too
disinterested
in your perspective to
speak wisely,
as often as I have been nice.
I say I just
want to be honest but
usually only
deliver the half-truth,
because the
whole truth would probably
make you
think twice about our relationship.
I wonder
about the half-truths we tell each other,
the
unfinished imaginings aching to be fulfilled
but stay
incomplete because we’re too afraid to
offend,
embarrass or hurt people’s feelings.
I wonder
what lusty thoughts tumble through
the minds of
those around me, what hurtful
terrors are
on the tips of tongues, what
true sadness
is under the surface.
I can’t
imagine mentioning it either.
Self-censoring
is probably the key to a healthy
society, if
we all just said what we thought,
it’d be
anarchy.
Perhaps not
full out anarchy,
possibly
anarchy lite.
Like, there’s
fires lit, but
they’re not
doing any damage.
The pillars
of society aren’t going
to fall with
a few choice hurtful words,
but we don’t
want to take that chance,
as if one
magic phrase will doom us all.
So I’ll bite
my tongue,
smile politely,
nod with a
resigned look on my face,
and carry
on, keeping my thoughts to myself.
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