Found Art

I fear the Internet permits expression
Of much that should be hidden and repressed;
The web's almost insistent intercession
Allows confession of the unconfessed
Feelings that reside in every breast
And used to be, from shame or doubt, confined
To one's one bosom as their place of rest.
But now they flourish publicly and find
The Internet is perfectly designed
For their dissemination in the world.
The emanations of each inner mind
Are broadcast, and all freak flags are unfurled.
I wonder where I'd be if I had shame;
The Internet alone can't take the blame.