Rumplestiltskin

There is a poet among us, Who goes under many a name. Many aliases his speciality, Poetry to him is all game. Pseudonyms and nom de plumes, Keep coming out of his mind. He lurks in poetry shadows, Schizophrenia is so unkind. Names anonymous and incognito, He tries to hide behind. And when he breaks cover, A spammer most maligned. He tries to change his style, In how he tries to write. But there are constant echoes, Revealed in black and white. A fairy tale I do recall, Written by the Brothers Grimm. A name so apt for him, The unloved Rumplestiltskin.