Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.

We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.

Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.

Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.

Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.

We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.

“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****.

It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2019.

Write what you know
Paint what you see
Yourself is much more int’resting
Than whoever you pretend to be

Sing what you hear
Move how you must
Look not to other’s favour
In yourself you may trust

Create and inspire
Astound and amuse
Yourself is an instrument
Go ahead - play what you choose!

I miss you
Myself, recurring
flapping through petals
of time

Rejecting the one by
My parents

Embracing, accepting
the One True Self
born into Mine.

Everyone has a Light
Inside them.
And everyone has some darkness too
But you were born to make
the world brighter,
so why not be
More like you.

We take the time to smooth the edges
That makes us stand out
We are busy stifling our voices
When it is time to be loud
We turn ourselves to ether
To delve amidst the plain
We try to exemplify others
When we are all the same

Sandpaper against my bare skin
Scratches on my raw soul
Trying to put me together
Broken bits to a shattered whole
We shy off when people look
At the scars highlighted with gold
When the fire burns within our hearts
We try to turn ourselves cold

Sandpaper against my bare heart
Scratches drawing out ruddy trails
Scratches on a face all botched
Ripping out the masking scales
Camaflouge and dumb charades
Hiding truth and hinting lies
Sandpaper against my lips
Drawing out wanton sighs

We make the effort to look our best
When the good is defined by others
We take the time before making haste
Suddenly caring who bothers
Yet our worth is in our own hands
How we draw ourselves
Our secrets are our own prison
Our confidence where freedom dwells.

(c) Anavah 2018