I’ve talked about my husband’s great great aunt before. I got back into her poetry today and found this:
Closet Poet
Hide! Hide! Let nobody see
Rebellious, eccentric, irreverent Me.
I do not, I cannot, I will not conform.
I dwell on the outskirts of civilized norm;
And sometimes in nightmares I hear a voice crowing
“Pardon me, Dear, but your lunacy’s showing.”
I have this image in my mind of this 1930’s woman declaring to whoever was listening (clearly not too many people since she calls herself a closet poet),”Hey, you, this is me. Take it or leave it”. But then she’s secretly worried, wondering, “Hm, is it too much?” Feels familiar.
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