Syndrome

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SYNDROME

Everyday you play a part,
wear a mask for all the right people to see.
But then it slowly starts to slip and there's no going back.
You're exposed for what you are.
All you want to do is hide and yet
most of the time it's not an option,
so you try and do what society says you should.
But attempts seem weak and pathetic
- like a bird pecking away at some impermeable
seed while they soar so high above you.
They take for granted the effortlessness
with which they are able to navigate the world,
drifting through solid obstacles as if they were clouds,
whilst you hit them dead on.
They feed off the energy of interaction,
becoming suns and stars in the presence of your dark moon.
Sometimes you build yourself up
and fly up to meet the bright ones,
but like Icurus you burn up and simply fall back down
to your own stoney earth.
You long for a better place
- a familiar nest where you don't have to pretend
and your secret, lonely world makes sense.