(WMB4X) The Anti-Poem

What you are about to read is a garbled mess. A mere transfer of thoughts to keyboard, a poem is the closest thing I can think of to describe it. If I win the booker prize this is the piece that will be worth millions.

Is the person speaking confidently surrounded by others, ticking the correct boxes laughing at the right bits, secretly scared that the person sat in the corner going their own way is right. When does keeping up and keeping pace stop us from being who we are.

Are the popular mean to those less socially endowed because they know it is them who can see the mask slip. From afar.

Is it easy to be the outsider?
Not confined. Going it alone. Very much alone. Does solitude make someone strong?
Strong enough to be scared shitless by every day. Scared by the hair thats out of place, the misplaced smile.

Confidence knocked by the (seemingly) confident. Those who are screaming inside, living a lie. Surviving.
Is survival enough?
For the nomadic trail blazer or for the confident fraudster.
Is there not pressure to achieve for both? Make something of yourself. For what? No-one knows for sure.

No-one knows the right or wrong path, the correct way. The correct thing to say, it’s a myth. We all just wing it some better than most. Some quoting holy ghosts. We just all do what feels right (right now) the past is gone no changing that, the future isn’t here just yet, so it’s not available for fuck up or triumph (Both of which will be short lived)

So.. if you are scared. We all are too. Just people better at bluffing than you.

Visit the Resident Weeble, who hasn’t had anything that I’ve been on.

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