Shameless

"Poets act shamelessly towards their experiences: they exploit them," i hear the wise Nietzsche say, and my gaze falls down; i don't have any answer. "What are you trying to prove?" someone asks me, and the question echoes and re-echoes in my mind. Indeed, what am i trying to prove with my blatant poems? Trying to prove how skillfully i can transform my capricious emotions into poetic expressions? That i am daring enough to speak the unspeakable? That i am subtle enough to leak out secrets in unsuspecting, innocent words? That the guise of a poet has rendered me insensitive to the limitations of other people? There she stands in the corner of my mind, her finger pointed at me, and the word 'Shameless' resonates mercilessly and endlessly in my soul, until it becomes the stinging salt in my eyes, and trickles down on my cheek...

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