Death by Expectations

©Michelle George 2011

 

You’re the wrong kind of outcast,

Useless, listless, spiritless, brilliant in your potential,

Potentially potent, politically incorrect but confident,

In the notion that you’re suited for your function,

The revolution of the obvious,

The requiem of truth,

The death of the mystic, or is it the ignorant?

You are not the fashionable outcast,

Lonely souls rubbed raw, solitary souls blown cold,

Huddling in the warmth of safety in numbers,

You stand alone,

Feet firm on your lonely road,

Content to see in HD and 3D, when tunnel vision is the order of the day,

Living richly on the fuel of yourself,

Carrying the heavy load of your own conviction,

But still alone,

The one man revolution is long in the coming,

And the bleakness of the wait plants a seed…

A grain of doubt in the bedrock of your faithlessness,

So you take comfort in the universal opiate,

And watch your unrelated siblings,

Ravenously shaking, quaking, craving their weekly hit of faith,

You strive for understanding,

Careening and backsliding,

Into the blackness of yourself, all the while smiling brightly!

The façade is all that matters,

It’s all that keeps the substance less shell of the faithful from eating you alive,

So you take sanctuary in  a lover,

Body and mind tantalizingly intertwines

Soul irrevocable lost to him,

You’re blinded by the light,

The spark of hope and lust thumbing in your limbs,

Settling at the core of your, he makes a home.

Too late, too late it shows itself,

Behind a wall of disappointment,

Painted in infidelity,

On a foundation of selfishness,

Built in the forest that sprang from his own seed of doubt,

But you cling to him, because you feel it there,

Buried deep,

The casualty of innocence fallen long before you,

The amputation is too painful to contemplate,

The devastation of your everything,

Your limbs are already weary,

With the weight of goals yet to come, and rest is a dream,

An illusion you give yourself so you can face tomorrow boldly,]

But yet still you’re alone,

Pressed flat against your growing bitterness,

By the weight of their expectations,

Symbolically the end of their starvation,

They crave your revolution.

But you’re tired, battered and broken,

Lost in the epic struggle against the seed you planted there,

That grew into a cocoon shielding you from the warmth of your own conviction,

Your potent potential, correctly incorrect,

Your own confidence planted in the savage garden of yourself.

 

 

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About Michelle Toussaint

Michelle Toussaint is an Antiguan who has amassed an Associate Degree in Science Education as well as a Diploma in Forensic Science. As such, she Teaches Science in the classroom as well as at home, where she leads...er... co-leads The Tribe. A merry band comprising her Husband-The Chief, herself-The Priestess, and her three precocious children- the tribesmen. When she isn’t mothering, teaching, being a fangirl or feeding her chocolate addiction. She writes two blogs. Random_Michelle and Death By Expectations. View all posts by Michelle Toussaint

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