Sodomize me if you must.
Drive any number of nails into
my skin.
Insist and demand as loudly as
it suits you.
Still after all that,
I'm going to wear
whatever costume
I desire.
Yet I've never been me.
Not really.
Always we are shadows
submerging any
light-bulb we
truly are.
Songs are sung and heroes are manifested.
Skipping vicars giggling
like little girls
are hob-nobbing with the
pagans down the street.
They prance like dizzy herbs
in a psychotic reaction.
Pretend. Pretence. Predisposition.
Each as meaningful as the other.
Sodomize me if you must.
When you feel I'm not co-operating
with the deception.
You can genuflect and
stress your vowels.
You can dress up like
psychological vampires
and throw terms around
that make you sound
important.
Still I'll carefully select every option
that propels me to
being as me
as I want to be.