being real
a pet peeve for me
is when a person is not “real,”
when,
out of ignorance,
or fear,
or misguided notion,
a persona appears between the self within
and whom we see:
authenticity lost, for awhile at least,
cascades of self-doubt must have permeated the ether
and nothing seems right,
so that maybe this mask, or that,
can trick away the fear,
and somehow keep us Cinderella in the coach
and away from the fire,
we can fear that those who know us
will feel we are false and pretenders,
though we hope against hope that the coach is real,
we can love the story of princess and prince hidden,
and then revealed,
the ugly duckling really a swan,
maybe we know that really
we have an awesomeness within,
and that we pretend otherwise
at our own, and at the universe’s, risk.
by Henry H. Walker
September 6, ’13
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