Having been what
Other people call shy
For most of her life,
Thoughtfully observing
The world without the
Hindrance of an
Endlessly spewing mouth,
She sees things that
Others don’t and
Takes it upon herself
To be the chronicler
Of the unnoticed,
The people and occurrences
Existing in quiet obscurity,
Deserving attention
Nonetheless.
Self-appointed arbiters
Of morality and righteousness,
They incessantly harass everyone
To conform to their vision of
The world and more than
Just once in while
Fall from grace when it’s
Revealed that they’re as
Fallible or even more flawed
Than people who don’t portray
Themselves as paragons of virtue.
After the inevitable collapse,
They sit whining about how it’s
Everyone else’s fault while
Plotting their next steps toward
Imposing a crushing theocracy.
An old photograph reminds
Him of when he cared way too
Much about what other people
Thought about him.
He smiles, remembering
Those directionless days when
He didn’t realize
That there was much more to
Aspire to than
The clothes he wore,
Car he drove,
Area he lived in,
Friends he had, or whatever
Superficial image he
Was trying to project.
Many years have passed and
He has put very little work
Into growing,
Still trying to catch the eye of
Anyone looking his way,
Dazzle them with his superficiality.
Many years passed and
There arose the dismaying
Realization that they
Had never reflected on
Anything, reconsidered
Their actions, grown
In any way, understood
The implications of
What they did; if anything,
It had become worse,
Setting the stage for
Chronic stuntedness.
He spent his entire life
Trying to avoid that
Feeling, the one he
Remembered from childhood
And never wanted to relive,
Constantly struggling to
Circumvent his inner pain,
Destroying all his
Relationships and making
A lot of people miserable.
He carried it deep inside
Until the very end.
Light doesn’t get in here,
Only an unsettling dullness
Feeding unconsciousness.
Judgments arrived at
Through thoughtlessness,
Ferocious fear.
Enlightenment derided,
Hurt the only
Acceptable currency.
Another reflexive reaction
To imaginary threats,
Absence of love.
Not a moment’s peace for her,
A self-imposed trajectory
Unimpeded by introspection or
Even the faintest understanding
That maybe things
Could be different.
She’s become so used to
This particular routine,
Refusing to consider any other,
Shallow depth of field,
Never seeing the horizon.
He goes off on yet
Another long-winded and
Excruciatingly boring commentary
On some topic he thinks
Makes him appear erudite but
Is really just another
Desperate attempt to be
More important than others,
Trying to overcome the
Voices of disapproval that
Won’t leave him alone
No matter what his title.
You win!
Stand there with
Your trophy while your
Shambles of a life
Lays at your feet and
You pretend that the
Reward is far greater
Than what you squandered,
Not that you’ll ever
Admit it, that would
Require some measure of
Courage, in short supply
In the land of swagger.
