The Censor

The Censor

As she spoke,

before she even finished,

she saw the cold veil drop as his eyes hardened

and she realized,

yet again,

that her uncensored truth was not his

and was not welcomed by him.

Stick,

she always tells herself,

to the superficial,

to the “Fine, thanks, and you?”

and the “It’s great to see you too!”

exchanged by those who desire,

or is that require,

the pretense that we never do more than scrape the surface.

And yet she has always known

that she was not drawn this way. 

It was not always so

but that no longer matters;

what matters now is now

and now, she tells herself,

she must be nice, be polite

and keep the walls in place.

There are no doors

but the wall is necessary for both of them. 

Easier said than done, at least for her.