I Am The Me You See...Now

I Am Only The Me That You See.
Standing Here,
Average Everything.
An Eye Witness Couldn't Pick Me Out Of A Fuckin' Lineup.
A Chameleon.

I'm Not Particularly Tall
Or Short Enough To Joke On.
Look-Wise,
I Fall Somewhere On The Pitt-Pacino Spectrum.
I'm Not Too Built
But I Ain't Frail,
Voice Isn't Deep,
Nor Too Shrill.
No Noticeable Scars,
At Least Not That You Can See.
Just,
Average Everything,

But Average Is Only Flesh Deep,
The Real Tattoo Is
Beneath The Outer Sheath,
In This Heap,
This Concrete Reef
Of  Hardened,
Crystallized,
Protected,
Hidden...
Darkness.

It's A Poem.
A Poem I've Been Writing Inside For Years,
But It Has No Words.
It Has No Words,
So I Can Be The Me That You See.

Let Me Ask A Question.
Have You Ever Taken A 2-Liter Coke,
And Shook It With All Your Might,
But Not Opened It?
Then Just Watched The Bubbles,
Enraged,
Confused,
Violent,
Completely Untempered And Without Direction,
They Have No Release,
No Escape
And No Control.

See Inside,
Beneath My Surface,
A Ruthless Carbonation Scrambles
Like Field Mice At Night,
Always In Jeopardy.
Inside,
There's A Poem That I Just Cannot Write.
It's Been Writing Itself For Years,
But The Worlds Won't Transcribe.
It's A Can Of Worms,
A Pandora's Box,
A Real Fucking Doozy.

Inside,
A Phantom Haunts My Opera.
There's A Poem That I Just Cannot Write.
It's Been Written,
But Not Scribed,
I've Imbibed It,
Lived It,
I Breathe It,
Silently,
It Silences Me,
And Controls Every Moment,
Untraced,
So That I Can Be The Me,
That You See.

The Words To This Poem,
Change Everything.
The Entire Trajectory Of My Existence
Would Be Thrown Off Its Cosmic Path,
My Planet Would Crack On Its Axis,
The Dreams,
Of People Mistakenly Hiding Behind My Facade,
Will Shatter To Waxes.
I Must Keep Being The Me That You See.

This Poem I've Been Writing
Is One Of Both Truth And Lies,
One Of Deceit,
And Ultimately Its About Making A Decision.
The Decision To Release Infuriated Demons
That Lerk So Superficially Close To The Skin's Surface,
Even I
Am Amazed They Don't Seep.

This Poem,
This Poem That's Been Writing Itself With No Words For Years,
Is A Mistake.
It Is Secrets Revealed,
Which,
According To Some,
Might Mean I'm Being Healed,
But Even The Best Medicine Has Side Effects.

This Necrophiliac Poem Eats At My Insides,
I'm Internally Lifeless,
Eternally Frightened,
Don't Know What Life Is.

But I Cannot Write This Poem.
I Shouldn't Even Write About Having This Poem,
This Poem That I Cannot Write.
See, I Am Only The Me You See Right Now.
But If The Right Letters
Appear In The Right Succession,
If The Words I Fear
Are Written And Read In
A Certain Direction,
This Poem Would Materialize.
If This Poem Materializes,
I Have
No More Poems.
There Are No More Words.
I Am No Longer The Me That You See,
No Longer Average.
And No Longer Hidden.

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