“Narcissus weeps to find that his image does not return his love.”
and burdened with pretense
I have laid strange standards for myself
Pitiful suppression of ...the “who is..?”
Foster the live wires of my mind.
Impractical…I scream! But….
The unmoored Narcissist breathes,
Remains unchanged, unaltered inside me.
—A catalyst gives variations to this wretched soul.
Sometimes, when the weight melts,
The mirror, bursting with laughter reflects me,
Asks: ‘why am I waging this useless war?’
Idiosyncrasy…. ? Ah, probably yes.
No stepping back possible,
Vanity…. sways my snobbish self
It gives me that extra edge
(a strange kind of pleasure you may say)
….Oh, it's a perverse logic
Where identity drips,
destroying the pages of my who’s who!!
Inky black…. voices of conscience mingle, chase.
My, My, what’s all this?
Who am I looking at, myself?
I can’t believe!
Worrying about everyone else’s possible thoughts doesn’t contribute much. Don’t wait for someone else’s permission to be amazing. If they don’t see it in you, it doesn’t matter.
" Be the best version of yourself and your own biggest fan."- unknown.