A bitter moment when faced with growing up.
Alas, I am bitter
It seems that, as my comrades and I grow older
a fickle sense of adulthood has arisen
which grips us in a blind embrace and
feeds a hunger for traditions
deemed worthy of drab souls
Such is the world of proper clothes and language and actions
Behaviors of men who act for others
in which all is meaningless but nonetheless sought for
in hope that it pulls one a step closer to the success of confidence or job
or woman, too often the conceded ones
who pull on the necks of the most groomed and primed as one might bid on the best pig at a showing
Men have left behind boyish smiles, spontaneous and nonsensical imaginations, the ability to love in humble wholehearted purity
They suffocate themselves with societal talents of manhood and suffer themselves with neurotic arrogance
Call me bitter! Call me false! Call me angst and anger and flailing depression
I am past the display of superficial ambition
I am done with fucking the world in some misguided embrace of maturity
Who do you dance for if not those watching?
Why do you cook if not for hopeful romance?
Who do you dress for if not the joy of attention?
Why do you work so hard if not for material and pride and success in the eyes of others?
Who do you tease at with humorous negativity, for dominance and power and confidence in yourself?
Why do you live if not for the shallow embrace of others who would dismiss you if you sunk in submission?
Call me wrong! Call me foolish! Call me a judge.
Tell me you dance for movement
Tell me you cook for flavor
Tell me your dress for yourself
Tell me you work for meaning
Tell me your tease is innocent
Tell me you live for life and meaningful, whole embrace
Leave this page and dismiss me
Tell me I am confused and dark
Tell me I am bitter.