Seeking answers is a hobby I've taken
as seriously as a heart attack at Walmart
giving myself a ******* headache
taking everything as meaning something
because reality has to be real somehow
How do I know if I'm a good person
how do I know if life has purpose
if I have purpose or if my nervous stutter
and the peculiar way I stare into things
until I'm convinced I understand
means about as much as I'm assured
there's a higher power at the helm
overwhelmed with all our pedantic prayers
I don't know if I want everything
or if I simply want to survive
wondering why I have this instinct
fighting with overloaded stimulus
I dream of success as if it were a reflex
a response to the hammer tap tap tapping
at the back door of my mind
I'm kind to everyone because I know
what it's like to feel hatred for
all the sacred magic wrapped in plastic
but I've never learned how to be presentable
preventable scars blind me to the obvious
while pretending to be religious
and worship at the altar of typical
predictable and perfect *******
with a pretty bow and then everyone
will know that I'm a good person even though
I've got nothing to show for it
Acceptance, charisma, charming extrovert
perverted by societal norms
but it looks good on paper
tigers with no teeth, no claws
rage and pace around their cages
looking for an opportunity to ascend
transcend the mediocrity of being ordinary
Maybe there is no lesson
it's just a bunch of stuff that happens
and everyone but nobody is special
until we find ourselves