On Arrogance

We live in a world
of people who brag and talk
and are agressive.

These are people so used
to push through any obstruction
that seeks to stop them.

They are very vocal
and nothing more than hot air
that deflates quickly.

Beware of these few
because they will wonder why
you are not like them;

Arrogant and trustless,
it’s their way or the highway,
come what ever may.

There’s no two persons
who have their own life journey
that can be the same.

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Women’s game

Everyone does it, so I figure

“Why not play the game?”

Good guys have been good boyfriends

And I bet I’d do the same.

But women hold the monopoly

and men are the game.

Standards abundant of coolness and hot

Disqualify me from lofty desires.

Women. I just don’t get them,

or their mindset when we’re meeting.

But I love them nonetheless,

their strength of being, so enticing.

 

I don’t know who I am

If I’m to be defined on my own.

It is said that people are marked

By those with whom they mate.

You know, dating’s not my thing,

scarred by rejection for anything different,

but I’d thought I’d give another try

And find the one who’d stand at my side.

Some say no, others tell me to go

And more say “It’s not you, but me.”

This game is tougher than it looked,

with feelings and moments so fleeting.

 

This is all made much harder

In the face of guys with beauty or power.

I’m a living, breathing string of bad luck

that doesn’t seem to be improving.

I don’t understand. Nice guy or no?

Am I too nice, or is it overthinking?

What am I supposed to do?

Is there a rule book on how-to?

Is there a standard stressing how to be,

the ideal man for these ladies?

Oh, good grief, is it me!?

And yet, I was as gentle a man as I could.

 

Their constant passing me is disconcerting

and at times, slightly depressing.

When she says “I have baggage”,

what should I say? “And I have luggage?”

I’m lost for words with no reply

That won’t be our premature goodbye.

Everyone played this game, so I figured

My chances had to be good.

Now I’m sitting, changed and vetted

feeling broke and misunderstood.

I was like a new toy that nobody wanted,

New, not used, resold on e-bay.

 

F*** this. I’m out.

I’ll go at life alone.

Void of emotion

I saw him once at the party,

Forcing himself to be among friends.

I could see some of him in me

Through the blank, dead stare in his eyes.

It’s like he was an emotional void,

Constantly seeking new mediums of joy.

But none of them really helped his mood

And this party barely helped in that regard.

So I went over to him, asked how he felt,

He told me: “I’m numb, barely here,

An emotional void that seeks to find joy.

I’m awake, and yet this is my nightmare,

I can’t wait to be dead, for then, I’ll truly be alive.”

I wished him well and walked away,

Hit with a sudden empty weight.

Then I realized: joy is only a passing feeling

that must be fed in the face of hardships.