Good day dear winners, losers, tie-ers and those apathetic or sage enough to avoid the event altogether. Not that those two traits are mutually exclusive per se. Collectively exhaustive? No, just collectively exhausting…
Time is extremely limited this morning so I’m going to cut the typical blather short because today’s poem is actually half decent. Maybe even two-thirds decent!
“Luchadore”, September 20, 2018.
A mask that’s worn beneath the skin
Disguising how you feel within
Cannot be bought, it must be earned
Upon your face is slowly burned
When your attire’s bacterial
Some benign growth origin known
Grief or dark shame that’s overblown
The daily need to always hide
Means that something’s fractured inside
That’s not to say that hope is dead
One needs only recall instead
With effort and a sprig of luck
This covert visor you may shuck.
For the record I don’t actually believe that luck is a necessary component to being real with others and much more importantly with yourself. There is a reason for which “knowing thine-self” has been such a well-represented literary concept historically. Oedipus and Hamlet notably to the more modern Eckhart Tolle et al. As far as I’m concerned as long as you aren’t required to stab out your own eyes with a long pin after porking your moms, you’re probably doing ok.
I am working shortly so that’s all for me. Enjoy you presumably more languid Saturday!
Happy Trails and Waggy tails! I think I prefer “waggy” to “wagging”. Thoughts?
A broken mind held together by cellophane and some tack.