Irritated, offended, disrupted, discomposed,
In any state of consciousness at any selfish time,
With friends, or from loved ones,
I always have to hide my mind.
I cannot be programmed, categorized, or referenced,
For better or for worse.
Resisting predictions, discipline, regular practice
Is my talent and my curse.
I push new friends and old away,
Horrified that they might someday seek and find and see
My hidden cauldron of instinct, shame:
Pathetic, patronized pride or uncharitable insensitivity.
Revealing my selfish unconvention to the world
Would drive everyone I love away.
Change I've tried, and made, in every way but this,
But if I hide him, me can stay.
Thus I exist.
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