The actor
in our world only held togetherby a variety of shells, duping
society with our act of deceit,
to be successful I adopt
furs, feather, scales-
sometimes I am not sure
which pelt I have on
or which hide I am underneath now.
The need for carapace
beggars me,
makes me faithless to myself
and leads me to a more
uncertain way to be
so much so
People mistake me and I
mistake myself.
Stage life over, I am home-
a condition I cannot really call
being alive, hypocrisy-hoarded heart, a smile
plastered on my face.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-07-27 at 05:45
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by yoonoos
peerbocus Latest textsAuthenticity.who I am The actor The echidna The Platypus |
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