Easy

I lived my life
Trying to control
But really

 
it wasn’t easy;
I struggled and strived
denied myself my…
Self. Tried to be…
someone else.

 
I didn’t know it
but the truth is
that laziness
is the way to
the truest self
expression.

 
The easiest path
is the easiest path
because
you want to walk it.

 
Everywhere
people strive
to be what they are not.

 
They live a lie of strife
a life of effort
for no reward.
No-one claps
there is no applause
and if there was
so what?

 
what can I do with applause?

 
This need we have
to convince people
to proove ourselves right
is nothing but a
struggle to hand over
our freedom to
come under
dominion.

 
See when you see
that seeing is a slow
slow journey to
clarity,

 
That
All people walk it
few of them know it
and eventually
everyone knows this.

 
If only for the moment
when your grandma dies
and leaves a wound and
you know, you
really know that
what matters doesn’t matter
that these standards
don’t matter!

 
That mattering can
smatter itself
scatologically
across the cistern.

 
That what “matters”
has placed a barrier
between me and you
between me and my family
because I fail
I try and I fail
To live up to the
Standard.

 
I feel guilt
that I’m not
what they admire
what they respect.

 
And this guilt
with downcast eyes
and stammering lips
weaves a disguise
before our very eyes
that hides from us both
the ones we want to know.

 
Not secretly
but openly
a family is fed upon
by a guilt
that restrains the lips
from uttering trivialities
and we watch
powerlessly
as our loved ones
disappear into
anonymity.

 
But death comes
and it shows us
through the tears
in the heart of the wound
that nothing matters
like we think it matters.

 
That my flaws are
just excuses for conversation
just things to say, admit
not to hide and justify.

 
That by being me
unabashedly
without restraint
is the way into the bosom of my family
because we’re all of one stock,
one blood, one lineage
let us compare notes
not give advice.

 
Let us come together
find what we have in common
uncover the stutters
and how we have dealt with them;
The social dis-ease
the low self-esteem
that doesn’t go
however we seem.

 
For me personally
it surrounds woman.
I hanker
for the female
anchor.

 
The feisty female
who
unbidden
solicits my advances;
but I stay back
because
In my eyes
I’m despised.

 
How could a woman
with hips and thighs
ever want to stare into these eyes?

 
I know,
I know,
I could wear a disguise
of adidas
and live a life
of work and strife
but that would
lead to a ball and chain
not a woman who’s mine
and who wants me.

 
Me!
Not some fiction
I create just to get
a whiff of fanny.

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