Stronger than myself,
a varying constant, if possible at all.
I can trust in the cycles of confidence
to the heavy weight of
worthlessness, but can give not pattern or apathy
to the event,
only aching bouts of shame,
for holding the head high,
shoulders back and squared in certainty
brings much exhaustion, which then
allows easily the act of hunching in
to keep from bleeding out.
Perhaps I will adapt like clever chameleons
who excel in hiding and
and perhaps hypocritical smiles will cease
encouragement to fraudulent behavior,
which always bring out simulated bests
but maybe genuine efforts reap no results,
putting honest theorists to
and maybe I ponder the unknown like stargazers ponder
constellations and crowded masses
for the purpose of false security;
I no longer have control.