A Still Life Poem by Margaret Alice Second

It seems like I will never taste the happiness of being
true to myself, á la Shakespeare - I'll always have to
play a role to hide my real being; it's not a problem at
work, everyone has a persona within which they hide
their true feelings: thus we have Sister Complacent &
Sister Longsuffering, cheerful without revealing their

Thoughts - probably they have never bothered about
discovering the inner being which governs everyone's
consciousness, but playing specific roles at home can
be quite irksome since you give me permission to talk
at so-called appropriate moments & I'm dumbfounded
after your stopping me so often; I don't want to consult

My list of appropriate subjects or take a chance with
what's on my mind - to earn a rebuke from you again,
silence is so much better - and I'm free to write what
I want, what more can I ask; after putting a stop to all
my emotions the fantasy of romantic love also ends -
thank goodness, reality's good since the rational calm

Of friendship on your terms creates a still life, after you
forbid expressing negative emotion, the new blandness
cancelled positive surges also - let's be quietly content
as nothing more can be done to change me into a more
acceptable person - unless I cut out my heart, that is…