Outcast Jay

It seems unlikely that the world
Is really in need of more truth—
Extremely unlikely it’s short
On heartfelt human confession,

And yet you feel the urge to tell
The truth, your truth, and you believe
That you should tell it honestly,
Or believe so until you start.

If you could just confess it all,
The way that it was so different
From what the social record shows,
You feel you’d wake them up, they’d know

For the first time how they all are,
How you are, how altogether
Every last squirrel and jay of you
Is caching the same stash. Then what?