The Rite of Spring ~ Friday, 20 March 2020

If you were born highly intelligent, 

      but socially naive, how would you feel, 

frustrated everytime someone calls you 

      sensitive, like you chose this persona, 

you picked up a mask and acted the role, 

      like awkwardness was some kind of ideal, 

only you never understood what worked, 

      you could never be a jack of all trades, 

undone by a gift to write what you felt 

      was the truth but only a truth for you, 

wishes were kisses, you'd be a writer, 

      a novelist, not a lousy poet, 

everyone thinks writers make big money, 

      they blend facts with fiction, storytelling, 

really, a novelist has as much chance 

      as a poet at making it big time, 

everyone knows Harper Lee, her novels, 

      but what about Alice Notley, her books, 

basically, some of us choose fame quicker 

      than our cohorts, some languish in the dust, 

of course, we do not choose fame and glory, 

      that is the mystery of destiny, 

royal, noble birth may imply the good, 

      but more often the bad is better known, 

nobility is conferred from above, 

      in hard-fought battles to overcome self, 

history portrays the beautiful few, 

      alongside notorious murderers, 

if power-hungry, greedy dictators 

      did not do good for some they'd not be loved, 

given none of us choose the conditions 

      of our upbringing that builds character, 

how we evolve to the person we are 

      is some sort of strange magic, a blue pill 

lets you be free to act as you so choose, 

      a white pill stifles creativity, 

you never know when the pill is offered, 

      or why it is administered to you, 

if you are happy, nothing bothers you, 

      but happiness flees as an emotion, 

no castles were built on just happiness, 

      but the blood and toil of poor laborers, 

trust your intuition, your gut feeling, 

      but abuse covers up that clarity, 

exactly whom can you trust not to hurt 

      you as a child, as an adult, trauma 

leaves us marked as damaged goods, unwanted, 

      by family, by friends, society 

learns by a look we wear, we don't fit in, 

      social misfits, possibly marked from birth, 

if you feel you chose your life that you made 

      and molded your character out of clay, 

gently remind the next generation 

      how to overcome the shame of abuse, 

ego, when not overblown, can open 

      doors of opportunity, to efface 

neither self, nor spirit, the voice within 

      seeking concert with other instruments, 

the symphony of chaos does not last 

      long for ears longing to hear harmony.