“The heart lies to itself because it must”
With so many mirrors to reflect my projections,
it would seem to be quite easy for me to see
the image which everyone else thinks is me;
yet , I have shifted shapes so many times,
deflecting definitions within my tangled lines,
I’m not too sure what is theirs and what is mine.
Even now, when I’m alone here in the dark,
when there is no one to hear, let alone mark,
what I think, I am hesitant and circumspect,
and watch what I say in case someone suspects,
as Shakespeare wrote, “I am not what I play,”
and am exposed to be nothing much at all;
except another dancing monkey on a pole
who fools myself, before any of the others,
into a belief that at my center rests a soul.