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?