By Tony DeLorger © 2011
How appropriate we are in manner,
while not offending or contesting our stammer,
of words hardly able to leave our pursed lips,
of contempt and the reality of feelings quipped.
How accepted we are in our presentation,
our calm composed and reserved salutations,
beguiling wit and tit for tat,
such bullshit is ours to manipulate that.
So often the guise becomes a disguise,
relenting on us who we are and rely,
on pretence an armour of need and survival,
the truth so removed we can barely imbibe it.
So eloquent we with our words and assumptions,
in society plump and dripping corruption,
is hardly a life to adhere to a plan,
remiss of reality or truth who I am.
In repose I consider my part in it all,
and duly take leave from this stage play and call,
myself to be true and not ever to stall,
my mind a step back from convention appalled.
Words are so pure and risen from mind,
I hate that they’re tainted and sullied in kind,
to wash away doubts and contrive to be smart,
and influence weakness right from the start.
I cannot suffer fools or manipulators.