Pedlars Of Perfection

Superficial souls

Vain sellers of

Artificial perfection

And critics of nature

Have planted toxic roots

Which have grown under

Skin not theirs

Which like bamboo

Under nails

Have bled

Out dying hope

And hollowed the heart

Made it cry

Tears that will not cease

Until all that is left

Is the mirror

That shows

Brittle bones

Standing in flesh

Where mind

Has deformed

And forced


As the norm

Upon beauty;

Calling it ugly

In the ubiquitous lie

Protected and promoted

By society’s hell.


Unfair, unfathomable!

Solid reasoning thrown to the fire,

In favour of etiquette, the manners of the superior!

Surely truth is better than fake flattery, fabricated compliments-

Better words be straight than bent.

Call me hell-sent if you will,

My bluntness may be an odd divergence from the norm-

But I would rather tell the truth, be in the right-

Than tell the blind they have sight!

What is this organisation of cordialities?

So natural to the sheep , the crowd.

Not to me, their obviousness, so bewildering.

Shall I try and fit in?

Force my heart and mind into a unnatural contortion?

I would if I could-

I sometimes ponder.

But it is a impossibility, an unattainable objective…

So I stay as I am-

In this crowd of socialites, those who are energised by other people, a self perpetual cycle!

I stay as I am-

An awkward, inelegant introvert-

The outspoken, odd one out…

But no matter if I stay quiet,

Or if I shout-

Some will stay perplexed at my differentness

This disposition I hold-

Some will always think me somewhat cold

And so they leave me, altogether overwhelmed…

Written by me and originally published in Sharnoff’s Global Views.


Speaking my thoughts as they form…
Socially segregated, not of their circles-
Alone in a crowd-
They think me obsessive, odd-
Like my mind speaks vernacular foreign to their own…

I wish I could disown-

My awkwardness, my mess of thoughts-

My stubborn inner dialog stuck on replay-

The way I say what I say-

The burning sounds so loud,
The overcrowding I feel all around!

But alas!
I cannot…
Not all is bad-
A perspective quite unique-
Even if I am thought a freak!

“Are you completely mad?” someone asks,
“No, dyspraxic” I say

But too late-
They have turned away…

Schrödinger’s Man

Do you not hear the screams-

The screams of those who stand fallen?

Can you not see the rivers-

The rivers and rivers of dead, broken reflections?

Do you not taste the mercury in the air-

The spheroids of silver?

Look for the intricately impossible-

Inside the confined collapse-

Do you not see yourself?

Is this not you?

Correct me if I’m wrong!

Your screams in amongst those who stand fallen-

Your reflection:




Find yourself before you drown-

In the river’s blood that doth flow-

Flow from whence the valley meets the blind-

You see those who cannot see-

You do not see– yourself!

Do you still not see- see these undeniabilitys?

Mercury air- your breath…

Drops of you- the mangled metal-

Circular constructs…

Do not turn your back on yourself!

Also in the forgotten foreground:

A cut out black shadow watches you-

Watches as you walk away–

He also is you!

Whispering turns to shouting-

Voices vying for attention-

Another manifested mortal-

A man of many minds-

A fear is in you-

This is me- still you don’t see!

Divergent paths, too many too number-

Dissected, bisected, trisected intellects…

Over and over they split you…

The splintered man-

Dead, alive– multiple musings-

Schrödinger’s man in a box…