Clown Suits

Don’t place my heart in a jester’s mask,
clad my soul in your sick satire rags of bias,
tear my insides apart with a knife of mockery
or try to cloth me in you clown suit label of opinion,
treating my life as only a wicked and perverse parody,
deficient the depth in essence to merit your respect.

I am a sail of truth that rides life’s winds,
a light that shines upon the eves of ignorance,
one voice singing notes of honesty
you just refuse to hear.

It all avails me not,
doesn’t let me ascend the steps in your mind
to where I might stand upon the same pedestal
that you grant so many others a chance to perch.

So now I sit in that shadowy lair of neglect
having let myself become the a dullard of presumption
for daring to think
in your dwelled a human being
from whom I might be treated as having worth
other than a source of your humiliation ideas of humor.

Next time I call unto you,
shall I be prepared to assault you with a volley of wit,
no more tolerating your barbs,
being ready to stop playing the dunce
when I hear your voice say,
“Customer Service, may I help you?”