What Kind of Field Is This?

I open Word
place black letters
on this white scroll
know you hide behind
every dot and line wielding
nothing but a tutu dancing, inviting
opening blind eyes I see that I have so long
mistaken this playing field for a required field
thinking to earn a wrung on the ladder to heaven
pretending paradise was a gulag of ego driven tyranny
laughing now I taste this carnival of delight and slip on my dancing shoes.