I want to see the beautiful again
To see the speckled shades of freckles on her face
Notice the lilt and nuance of her voice,
That ranges from a land not native to her birthplace.
I don’t want to waste your time, and in essence,
Not waste mine either, but
Saving face is an age-old brand of propriety –
It’s lying through bated breath,
Hampered smiles that hesitated to tell
Truth under duress –
When duress easily affects my being,
I wonder why I allow it to be so.
Why not be the maniacal voice,
Yelling, a frenetic, hollowed
Question statement that ends on a shriek.
Why not be the unpredictable Jane,
The one who claims not ignorance,
But sheer knowledge
And is unafraid of acknowledging that
Improper knowledge which others make light of,
joke about – c’mon, this life can be lived
With shields that spend
Most of their time raised and wavering –
Bending to pressure
The force of which is wholesome
But keeps the barrier translucent
And open to everything.