Self-doubt has become a comfortable home
Here, the whispers make my acquaintance
The words, a symbolic mirror
Reflection, reflection, pallor and shamed
Of modest in stature, still more in hang
In wealth and in manhood
Inadequacy my stamp
It throbs and it fills, but less than required
Of tail so small, my esteem grows tired
These feelings, this pain
Is it me or them?
I can't change my appendage, still I incur blame
The ridicule, the smirks
The pretense, the pose
The posture, paranoia
Within blush I am froze
Intimacy. The most basic of pleasures
A dialogue, spoken by bodies of which mine is mute
Is this them, or is this I?
Your smile speaks a falsehood
Revealed by eye
Not manly enough but too manly to say
I hate me, I hate me as long as the day
-
Author:
Kenneth Neal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 6th, 2023 09:14
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: dmg makaveLi wrLd
Offline)
Comments1
Introspective reflection awakens a crowd in a measured way that tempts and prods, still remaining easy circumstance to set aside when influence falls short of contagion and silence said to be of accidental sort allows bold step to still. When status quo charges no tax , anonymity of the crowd likely steers my play. Less courageous than this author , and silent still, assuaged guilt may soften when a noted Kipling quote is proffered “ you’re a better man than I , Gunga Din. “ I offer props and note your bravery.
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