We toss around our emotions like an illusionist springs his cards.
Back and forth,
hand to hand,
seemingly without a care.
When, in reality, the illusionist knows the exact placement of every single card.
We have love in our hearts, but if we let it out, it might hurt.
Best to keep it right where it's at.
And the cards spring to the next hand.
Anxiety, depression, any divergence from the norm.
Best not to let them see. They might think we're crazy, expose us.
What would people think?
And the cards spring again.
If we're too happy, we're manic,
too sad, we're depressed.
Enjoy reading a good book?
What's wrong with you?
You're boring!
You have no life!
Go out a lot?
Good God, son, you're a lush!
A whore!
A… Republican?
And the cards spring again.
We tuck our emotions, our issues, and our pleasures away, putting them all back into the deck.
Nothing up my sleeve.
It's another misdirection,
nothing to see here at all.
