WYSIWYG

From Wikipedia on WYSIWYG:

The phrase was coined in 1982 by Larry Sinclair, an engineer at Triple I (Information International, Inc.), to express the idea that what the user sees on the screen is what the user gets on the printer while using the "page layout system", a pre-press typesetting system first shown at ANPS in Las Vegas. The phrase was popularized by a newsletter published by Arlene and Jose Ramos, called WYSIWYG. It was created for the emerging Pre-Press industry going electronic in the late 1970s. After three years of publishing, the newsletter was sold to employees at the Stanford Research Institute in California.

The prhrase "Whay you see is what you get," from which the acronym derives, was a catchphrase popularized by Flip Wilson's drag personal "Geraldine" (from Rowan; Martin's Laugh-in in the late 1960s. Geraldine would often say it to excuse her quirky behavior. 

*end of quote*

And what do you know, my other name is Geraldine. 

Now, tack to the poem.

WYSIWYG

What you see

Is what I am

I won’t pretend to be deep

I won’t cast furtive, sideway glances

To make you think I’m enigmatic

I won’t give you cryptic lines

To show a shadow of something dark

Hidden, lurking behind a half-smile

No. If I try to be perplexing

And pretend to be mystifying

I will laugh at myself

And then I’ll make you a PowerPoint slide

To be sure you get

What I’m really saying

If you call me mysterious

I’ll say you’re full of crap

Figuratively, of course.
Figures of speech, I shun 

Preferring the literal

What you see is

What there is

Yes, I have my dirty secrets

But who doesn’t?

But the Venn diagram

Of what I show outside

And what I am inside

In the well-lit caverns of my psyche

Is a fairly expansive circle

Because my life is one big open book

The spine split wide open

The pages dog-eared and well worn

With nothing much in between the lines

The story of my life is open source

Password not required

Because I can be a whore for attention

Desperate for a reaction

My status even strangers
And their friends of friends know about
What I had for dinner
Snapped and posted
Liked and commented

Shared and quoted

My brain is not a mollusk shell

With meandering paths

And unexplored tunnels

My guts are spilled

For all the world to see
My innards exposed
My heart bared

If anyone cared to look
Every little pang of emotion documented

Every imagined poignancy exploited
You see, I’m in the in the business of sharing
Distributing the little that I know

People pay to learn about the stuff 

I manage to google and stuff inside my

Pretty uncomplicated noggin

I prefer the efficiency of information

Over the enchantment of the unknown

I have no time to be coy

I have no patience for innuendos

Unless they’re the funny, dirty kind

Which you say with an obvious wink wink

That makes me guffaw because I got your joke

I know, I know

I’m boring
But really, the need to be clear
Far outweighs the need to be sublime
Metaphors confuse me
The metaphysical can never trump

The clarity of reality

The ambiguous leaves me confused
Hints flummox my simple mind
Just hit me with the truth any time
And I’ll say thank you for telling it to me bluntly

Yes, that means I'm shallow

Like a saucer
Wide open
Unlocked, ajar
Spreadeagled
Uncovered
Your irony will probably escape me

If you say no, I hear no

If you say you’re hungry

I assume you need food

And not that your soul  

Is famished

Or your spirit ravenous

For some nebulous craving
Look at my face
And you see pretty much the wall behind me
Transparent like cellophane
Predictable like August rain

Symbols my ass
Semiotics—a pain

What you see

Whether you like it or not

Is what you get

So the question is
Why rest from prose
Why poetize
Why deviate from paragraphs

And delve into stanzas

I don’t know
It's just that sometimes
When I least expect it
A word gurgles out

From somewhere visceral
A bubble of a thought

Refuses to conform to the regular syntax
And the enter button insists

On moving to the next line

Leaving the last one unpunctuated
To form narrow columns

Instead of broad walls of text

I don’t know where they come from

There is rarely rhyme

And even less common—reason
I don't even know

How to do it right

But who cares

I just write

What feels like poetry

Listening intently

To the uncontrolled sentiments

The unstructured statements

And I relax my silly grammar rules

And let the words flow

Unfenced by patterns

Unhampered by justified margins

And they just pour out

Unbidden

Uninvited

Unhinged

Disorganized

A jumble of misplaced ideas

And molted musings

Spewed out

From a place uncharted

Maybe somewhere

In a body drenched with words

Somewhere in there

Where I’ve never bothered to look

Just maybe

Just maybe

I’m deep after all

Or not