disinhibition
The screen reflects a phase without a face,
A glowing grid where harried ghosts can speak,
Unlatched from timeline, family, and place,
The armour built to let their tongue grow weak.
Online, their disinhibited heart unblinds,
Safely shaded in a synthetic name,
Where sheltering walls of pixels shield their minds
That could not bear sure bruising of their frame.
We call it modern, shifty, and discrete,
Yet Bell’s dark moorlands whispered from their loom
When Charlotte wore a shadow to compete,
So deftly plucked verses from gendered gloom.
While old Pessoa split his lonesome heart
To house a dozen truths within their deep,
Each heteronym a fragment of their art,
A different watchman waking from their keep.
Hence Kierkegaard threw mirrors in the street,
And bore a mask to make their reader see
That truth is not a name two strangers meet,
But inward flame’s vulnerability.
The mask is not a coward's locked retreat,
Nor shady craft to cheat their readers fine—
It is the only place where truth can beat,
A prison wall around that fragile shrine.
Poetry by anonface
Read 5 times
Written on 2026-06-23 at 00:43
Tags Disinhibition Psychology Pseudonymous
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Albert Vynckier |
