Living Your Secret Madness
You are a poet but only just
a bit of you hidden in many ways
pouring out of your pores when you least expect it
Diary substance, song writer’s notebook
You pen your golden words with happy delusion
Living your secret madness, keeping it hidden
Feelings creeping and peeping beyond the veil
Cautiously oozing out sometimes,
flinging themselves onto the notebook today
Cautious soul self protects her heart.
A poet? Maybe. But we keep it to ourselves. Right?
A word player? Perhaps. Substance in many directions
A brother, a mother, a sister, or a friend, maybe one can be trusted
Welcomed by a few glimpse of the many facets
or your poetic self, which is unknown to most
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