Maybe it is natural,
Automatic.
The constant worry of what the masses think.
This constant desire to please and appease.
The irrational fear of being the one they will tease.
The desire to impress even if it means it is your voice that you will have to surpress,
For people who at the back of your mind you know could not care less.
About you.
Automatic.
The constant worry of what the masses think.
This constant desire to please and appease.
The irrational fear of being the one they will tease.
The desire to impress even if it means it is your voice that you will have to surpress,
For people who at the back of your mind you know could not care less.
About you.
Or maybe, maybe
Like character it is acquired.
This desire to be desired.
To be angels we are not.
To cover up our every fault.
To blend in with the rest.
And from there be considered the best.
Irregardless of whether what we have to do,
Is seldom in our best interest.
Like character it is acquired.
This desire to be desired.
To be angels we are not.
To cover up our every fault.
To blend in with the rest.
And from there be considered the best.
Irregardless of whether what we have to do,
Is seldom in our best interest.
Maybe this approval sought after
Is a figment of our imagination.
An inexistent creation.
Devised by our once clean conscience
Designed to steer us the wrong way
Perhaps to give us a justification
For every act done as a result of poor discretion.
To forever leave us in torment
And further from our state of perfection;
That ever elusive state of self actualization.
Is a figment of our imagination.
An inexistent creation.
Devised by our once clean conscience
Designed to steer us the wrong way
Perhaps to give us a justification
For every act done as a result of poor discretion.
To forever leave us in torment
And further from our state of perfection;
That ever elusive state of self actualization.
Maybe I should finally let them judge me for growing up.
For shutting these voices down.
For wearing my wonderful weirdness like a crown.
For marching to the oh-so orthodox beat of my own drum
And not associating with those who will not make me conform to the erratic march of theirs.
For shutting these voices down.
For wearing my wonderful weirdness like a crown.
For marching to the oh-so orthodox beat of my own drum
And not associating with those who will not make me conform to the erratic march of theirs.
For only associating with those who love me for the angel I am not
And the devil I try not to be.
And the devil I try not to be.
Likely innate,
ReplyDeleteThis disposition,
This diseased need for acceptance,
Unease stirred within when one fails to please,
Unsettled state that sets in at the thought of disapproval by 'other',
Unheard by the flock we become a choir crooning off key just to be one of the birds,
But the feathers are falling off,
Who are you?
Or maybe, maybe,
This neediness is manufactured,
A supply chain product of our combined madness,
And yet I heard Angels envy us,
Despite our faults,
Astonishing,
And we cower from scrutiny,
Admonishment causes us paralysis,
We'd much rather incessantly gobble up admiration and praise,
Even if it be poison.
Probably this constant yearning,
Reflects our attachment to a myriad of mirage and illusion,
Conjured by an allure of the unreal,
Alas the wellsprings of our subconscious,
Inner compass misguided,
Oblivious to our lack of guidance,
Perhaps,
Perhaps some sense of peace stems from a herd mentality,
Yet lest we forget our lonely tears might tell of a different tale,
Ever so often there manifests an acute awareness,
The soaring heights of our short-comings.
The doer of deeds is damned either way if our peers had their way,
May that never subject my voice and expression to suppression,
They needn't crown my inner light but this little shine of mine shall flourish,
Different tune that I hum to,
Let us string melodies Truth seekers can vibe to.
For there is no condemnation for those who find Truth.
Poetry Philharmonic :) ;)
ReplyDeletep.s: Thank you for your kind words the other day.