The Jester's Second Act

I heard you dubbed me "depressed" behind my back.

All my poetry is too upset for me not to be, you claim.

Thankfully, all your disloyal subjects haven't believed you,

And that my emotions only provide for your gawking entertainment.

XXX

What did you honestly expect to find within my lines?

Did you wish me to be the facade optimistic?

Did you expect me to laugh off all the faults of society?

And brush by the painful mistakes I've made?

XXX

In person, I may be your laughing court jester,

But my poetry is the me I refuse to compromise for you.

I refuse to be a singular constant emotion to appease you.

And I refuse to be your token idealist who smiles on order.

XXX

I was quite content to leave hurt in my lines, wear the mask,

And never burden you with my distressing emotional trials,

But you've crossed the line, subjected me in total to ridicule.

Be prepared, I may be in part your jester, but I refuse to bow in full.

XXX

These feelings you now use to define me are but a mere part of me.

I'm only so "depressed" here, because this is everything you refuse to hear.

And now you will, in full; it seems your jester's got a second act.

Prepare to laugh and smile on cue, prepare to be the me I am to you.