I hope I don’t sound strange or sinister
But just like our dear Prime Minister
I must set a secret free
And reveal the ‘real me’.
For all these years, I kept it locked
In a little wooden box
I held it under lock and key
The poor, forgotten ‘real me’
Unclear to the naked eye,
The real me’s a nicer guy
Nicer, sweeter and less bland
He’d surely be in great demand
If I ever let him out
I suspect there’d be no doubt
The real me would become feted
Lauded, loved, congratulated
For reasons that elude me now
I could not stand to let him out
So he sat for years on end
Devoid of either foe or friend
True to myself he always stood
In his little box of wood
High above the muck and grease
Up there on the mantelpiece
He hovered high like a balloon
– The real me remained immune
To life’s unwanted sour surprises
Tragedies and compromises
Plain, resilient and pure
The ‘real me’ could well endure
Any level of rejection
By straw poll or an election
But over time, a nagging voice
Caused me to question if this choice
Was as wise as it could be
– Should I unleash ‘the real me’?
My conscience constantly was gnawing
Until began a gradual thawing
Between me and my better self
I brought the box down from the shelf
The real me appeared quite shocked
As I pulled him from his box
And was he pleased, do you suppose?
No! He punched me in the nose
Instantly, I dropped the box
The little beggar then took off
Through a door that was agape
– The real me had now escaped
For in this world of chairs, it’s true
It’s rough to ask the real you
To stand up when all else are seated
And not to feel that you’ve been cheated
So I agree with Jools and Tone:
It’s simpler to remain a drone
To do what others tell you to
And not unleash the ‘real’ you
The real me remains at large
So I’ve cut up my credit cards
The whole thing has become absurd
It’s been three weeks and not a word
But perhaps it’s good I set him free
And unleashed the real me
But on a purely selfish note
Which one of me’s enrolled to vote?