Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Everyone knows,

When they speak to me...

Everyone knows

My story.

They know,

They know,

Of my travels

Of my sexuality

Of my hopes

Of my abuse

Of my greatest achievements

Of my breakfast.

There is nothing

No onw knows about me.

My voice,

My voice,

Tells all.

My face is revealed by my voice.

That,

That is my mask.

My voice tells all about me

But it cannot speak

The language of my brain.

Things are lost:

The emotion,

The intention,

The truth.

My voice hides these

To protect

My brain.

My brain

Is a terrifying place to be.

It cannot be handled

By anyone but me.

My voice

Cleans the thoughts -

Rearranges them -

To suit my audience.

I am not me.

Me is a horrible thing to be.

I am only

Who everyone needs me to be.