The self is several. It’s like a zoo
Where all the me’s I am are caged and fed
And angry—since, no matter what they do,
I only free the ones who are well-bred
Or well-behaved. There is a different me
For everything I feel, pretend to feel,
Or cannot feel—and still there’ll only be
One of me that the outside world calls real.
I am a traffic jam that just one car
Will get through—a packed mob behind a door
That only lets one person out—the star
That all the extras and the crew work for—
A single tongue behind a wall of teeth
That speaks over the unvoiced underneath.
Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells