Spurious Confusion

Spurious Confusion

By Morti

Here I am, bones and scars

I am as real as the moon and stars

It’s okay that you don’t understand

It isn’t something that I demand

Just something devoutly to be wished

A deep desire, an inward shift

People are counterfeit fabrications

Made up of lies and medications

They put on masks of fraudulent invention

Then strut around with airs of ill intention

Perplexed I sit in amazement and trepidation

At the crude way of behavior and imagination

What is it they are so afraid to share

What’s wrong with being genuine, why is it so rare?

I think I know why they can’t be real.

People are overcome and shaken to feel.

I can understand such a fear

But to face our despair, isn’t that why we are here?

So being real, while it is probably favorably contemplated

Is looked at as a weakness and one is highly emasculated

Where then does our value lie?

If only inside we can cry?

In this world of perversion and offense

Truth can be harsh and feelings intense

But if fear is what keeps us locked in our cages

There is nothing to accomplish, sadly only more stages

Of grief…

I cannot acclimate to this type of life

I don’t think we are meant to terry in strife

Can you translate for me the curious practice

Of Keeping people aside, being cuddly as a cactus?

This is something I will never be.

I can only be real.  I can only be honest. I can only be

Me.

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