He Says It Like It Is - Feb 15 2025

 

He Says It Like It Is

Feb 15 2025



If we all said what we meant

shared the thoughts we say in our heads,

talked freely

about religion and faith,

ethnicity and race,

forbidden love

or plain and simple lust,

would we gain trust

or lose it?

Would others open up

as if we’d given permission,

or shut their ears

and fleeting ?

Or should we say what they want hear?

Harmless gossip

and weather talk,

chitchat

about the innocuous day-to-day?

Yet they preach honesty

and tell me to speak up,

admire the forthright man

who is fearless

and says it like it is.

Trouble is

a con man sounds sincere

and even straight-shooters can be wrong.

Or right, who’s to say?

Is there only one truth, absolute and singular,

or is truth multiple

  — your truth

half truths

the sworn truth,

what once seemed true

but no longer does;

proven truth

that was immutable

but later fails?

And if so

whose truth do I accept?

As for me, I’m prudent

keep my thoughts close to my chest.

Especially

the transgressive and offensive ones

that might make me a pariah

upset accepted norms.

(The impulsive ones

  — when I see red, and all bets are off —

slip out

despite myself.)

The rest, I edit

before measuring out my words.

Even though they don’t always emerge

quite as I intended,

neither untruth or truth

just misunderstood.

So like most of us

I speak tactfully, and show respect,

saying what’s expected

supporting the consensus

keeping friends friends.

Trying to be popular

or at least fit in.

Which sounds better than cacophony,

scandal and shock,

broken social bonds.

Because while honesty is good

don’t they also say go along to get along,

that nothing is wrong

with a little discretion?

(The magisterial “they”,

the voice of authority

although no one knows from where.)

So I speak softly,

monitor every word,

know when to stop.

The voices in my head

I keep to myself.

Truth is under attack these days: liars and hypocrites in positions of power; jaw-dropping shamelessness; facts, cynically twisted or invented.

So when Trump supporters laud him for “saying it like it is”, steam comes out my ears. Because he just says what people want to hear, or makes stuff up to further his agenda. He even lies when there’s nothing to gain and no reason. He denies what he said, even when it’s on tape. Because he knows people forget, aren’t paying attention, or hear and see through prisms of ideology and tribal loyalty. Not to mention that “flooding the zone with shit” (à la Steve Bannon) makes it impossible to keep track.

But this poem isn’t political. It’s really about that inner dialogue we guardedly keep to ourselves; the forbidden thoughts we all have, but would never admit.