Forever undecided. How fickle we are,
The method by which we are defined.
Stagnant. Stubborn in our ways. Marred.
We are ever changing, the past left behind.
What am I not, or what I want to be…
Am I more or less than what I say?
Do those pretending to be friendly
Not end up as friends anyway?
Do those pretending in pursuit of love
Not fall in love in the same manner?
Picking and choosing attributes above
Our true selves, we tuck away the others.
Do those who try to be fake in vain
Make a habit of pretending?
A pretender-pretending-to-pretend’s bane.
Falls prey to the reality they are creating.
The deceiver in order to deceive
Feigns deception but eventually succumbs
To their own lie, and in order to believe
Their falsity, they are consumed by its outcome.
We belong somewhere, and yet we’re excluded
From our own inclusion though we’d hate to admit
That we are actually who we previously described
Though despite pretending otherwise, identity remit.
What about us are we trying to prove is true
When What we’re pretending to be is Where we are?
How can we tell, with the lies we fail to see through,
Who will be forced to endure the worst honesty scars?
It’s been a while since I worked on something new from this past month. The next few serious poems are about some serious things. Things tend to get pretty dark, but hopefully their meaning is able to reach. This one is all about when bending the truth benefits you greatly; you either amend your own reality to fit your lie or get consumed by a self-made torrent of dishonesty. Eventually, the truth manages to find a way to rear its ugly head, for better or for worse, but we’ve all been in a position where we were trying to be something we are typically not, we slowly and incrementally incorporate elements of that very thing until we make a change. It is certainly something to think about…
Hopefully, the weather for you guys is treating you well. The recent snow storms like to prevent me making plans as of late, but I plan on getting back on track with things.