Poetry – The disguise (For Bukowski)

The disguise

Inside the house,

                Outside the house

                                I adopt the disguise of an ugly toad.

I pull on the coarseness,

                Adopt the crudity,

                                Swallow the poison,

Smoke the dynamite,

                Fuck, curse, fart and belch

                                                Scratch my fat belly,

                                And act the part,

While inside, hidden,

                From myself,

                                The lost kid is bullied

Forever,

                And I pour it all into

                                Poetry and prose

Like it’s real

                And it’s real.

The worse I behave,

                The more graphic the account,

                                The more revealing,

                                                The more extreme –

The more honesty and ugliness,

                The greater the adoration.

I am my disguise,

                It suits me.

                                I’m at home in the skin

Of a realist

                With no limits

                                                To what I might do,

Or its consequences.

                It’s primal.

                                It’s pornographic.

                                                It’s the vomit of reality.

When you pare it down,

                The essence

                                Reveals the core

                                                That is usually

                                                                Disguised.

Opher – 27.12.2019

I was influenced by a poem of Bukowski’s that I read a while ago in which he talked about how he kept his true self hidden and had developed this persona of hard living.

It affected me.

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