Penetration

You tell me I can look inside you

penetrate you,

delve amongst what’s hidden there,

know you.

And yes, I know you.

Know that you hide yourself 

in subterfuge.

Know there’s both fantasy and fact

in the mixture

you expose

in your stories.

And they’re hidden inside.

I know that you bar the door, 

and don’t let anyone in.

Make up stories.

Or spit out what comes first 

into your head.

Let it escape.

Then, if it’s true, 

hide it,

cloak it in make believe, 

in fantastic lies.

So no one knows 

you.

Yes, I can see inside,

see the grand mixture

of nonsense,

of deceit and anxiety, 

truth and concern

for privacy.

But I can’t separate out one from 

the other.

And it doesn’t matter, you see, I like

the mystery.

But you are wrong to think that

when I look inside you

I know who you are.

Only that you are a mystery.

And that I like mysteries.

I can understand them.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/17ezU5Gduo9Qs-G1GiD6cACw_VmhFMzS1/view