Poetry of Passion

I’m tired of this pretension,
Of sickly sweet camaraderie,
I’m tired of all these smiling masks
More fake than plastic pottery.

I cannot stand the squealings,
The praise that never falters,
I cannot stand the unthought off’rings
Piled atop high altars.

I sigh with each declaration,
Though the intentions are right and true,
I sigh and see those promises empty,
Promises made to impress, not imbue.

I cringe at every high five,
At best-friendly congratulations,
I cringe to see those left outside
The groups and demarcations.

I hate to see talent go to waste,
Become dull in complacent rest,
I hate to see the same old, same old,
Not good, better, best.

I struggle with my position,
I struggle to hold my tongue,
I struggle to bite back all these words
And say, “It’s just for fun.”