I don’t want to be a, “Good Person”
Or rather,
Not if you have to tell me.
I’d rather die,
Then hear someone tell me I’m nice,
You’re so nice,
You’re a good guy,
Gratefully with twinges of gluttonous ego I accept,
In spite of myself.
Perhaps I’ve been groomed
Act nice to be complimented.
Humans never cease to appall me,
With ways to be unwarrantedly wareful,
And secretly subconsciously submergent,
So I remain watchful of myself.