I have learnt for myself;
that no one really likes another
without something in it for themselves
This was not told to me
For a price, it was not obtained for free
The true intention of man is not as it seems
From a place of vantage, I stood to see
It seems reserved only for that person that
reflects what they dream of
or portrays their expectations thereof
Sometimes for the sake of true gratitude
or plainly for an outward show of servitude
Sometimes it is for your good books,
your good looks,
or how good your life looks
Who really likes a man that is obscure?
Who dotes on that woman with ugly manicure?