A new restaurant opens
Nearby and we decide
To give it a try.
Things don’t go as planned,
We likely won’t return.
On the drive home we
Discuss it animatedly.
So, it’s really
Not that complicated:
Just treat other
People nicely.
Don’t step on
Someone’s neck when
A simple kind word
Will do.
We only have this
One fragile planet to
Co-exist on,
Rising or falling together.
Sure, we can selfishly
Destroy one another,
But there are
Far better options.
Do this,
Do that,
It has to be done
This way,
That way,
The way I say,
How it’s always been
Or has randomly developed
Through years of people
Scrambling to hang on to
Power and prestige
At the expense of
Everything else,
Rules smothering
Passion, creativity, life.
No thank you.
It keeps gnawing
At my insides,
A dull intruding
Discomfort.
I try to make it
Go away but it
Makes itself at home,
Taking up far
Too much space.
I ask it to leave,
No answer.
Flustered,
Bewildered,
Off-balance.
They seek
Comfort and solace
From the strongman
Promising to
Return them to the
Safety they never
Really felt in the
First place and
Upon which the
Bellwethers rely.
He explodes at the
Thought that someone
Else is getting something
For nothing; after all,
He’s worked for everything
He owns and has never received
Any assistance from anyone,
Except for his father, mother,
Uncle, friends, old classmates,
The system that keeps his
People in power, the
Infrastructure that helps
Him make money, the programs
He’s accessed when he’s
Needed help, the court system
That tilts in his favor, but
None of that matters, because
He’s somehow different.
I used to let everyone
Else’s voice supersede mine,
Lent more credence to
What they said than
Anything I might have
Been thinking, and it
Paid off in an overwhelming
Windfall of misery and
Inauthenticity, having left
The real me languishing by
The wayside while I plodded
Ahead wearing someone else’s
Persona and venturing further
Away from the real me,
An indistinct whisper in
A cacophonous gale,
Alone and unindividuated.
Startled out of
A blissful slumber
By the sound of
Insecurity
Roaring by in a cloud of
Acrid smoke,
Whooping and hollering
About some shallow thing
That only matters to
Someone who has no sense of
What it means
To heal.
During their house hunt,
His wife marvels at the
Modern kitchens and gushes
About everything she will
Be able to do and how much
Easier it will be.
He stands mute,
Staring at his shoes,
Hoping nothing breaks
The spell that keeps her
Serving his every need.
