You taunt me to come out of my shell and join the parade,
Pull away from my book, my mind, to the world of masquerades.
I struggle, you see, I haven’t yet mastered the art of lies,
I can’t remove my filters, serenade your discomfort and look into your eyes.
I can’t join the circus, disturbing is the cacophony of noise,
I can’t listen to it, believe it, and remain with poise.
Inevitably, I chime in, into the conversation I’ll dive,
But your world is shallow, I’m afraid of drowning in your blithe.
That’s the tragedy, the lamb to the slaughter,
We’re all diving heedlessly but their is no water.
It’s not that I can’t be bothered, it’s because I am afraid of hitting my head at the bottom of the shallow pool of a world you live in.
I’d engage, if you could for once talk about something of substance.
I don’t want to meet God with a shopping list, a bargain bonanza nor a scroll of ‘he said she said’. The cloth I will be buried in only houses my body.