The Key

I write as if someone is reading,
Though mostly I know it’s not true;
But I’m not giving up or conceding –
Lack of confidence is so taboo.

I speak as if someone is hearing
The opinions that I have expelled,
The listener often appearing
To concur with the views I have held.

I dress as if someone is looking;
My clothes are unwrinkled and match.
No matter if nothing is cooking;
Appearance lets others attach.

I dream as if someone is waiting
To grant my desires and hopes,
But I know that I am creating
A path down some slippery slopes.

‘Cause everything that I am doing
Is done ultimately for myself;
And there’s no room for boasting or ruing –
Those emotions belong on the shelf.

For we do what we do to please no man
And we shouldn’t let anyone judge;
That way no one’s the high or the low man,
And we don’t get caught up in the sludge.

So I’m writing and speaking and dressing
And dreaming for no one but me,
And everything that I’m expressing
Is the lock for which I have the key.