Why do I take my living so seriously,
Finding pleasure in nothing but playing the game
Of pretend satisfaction? I live not at ease
Because I waste my focus on people to please.
Finding joy within oneself cannot be the same.
It’s the most wholesome origin ever to be.
Sourness, the byproduct of people pleasing,
Permeates my existence. An ever presence
Is the tartness of taste, feeling that I must sell
My perfected self proudly. I don’t do that well.
Peddling of one’s true self comes at the harsh expense
Of addiction to always ever appeasing.
“If I smile will you love me? Suppose I tap dance
As I juggle three Rubik’s cubes while solving them?”
This compulsive behavior is what makes life hard,
And it needs to be looked at. If I’m more on guard
To my slipping into that mode, I’ll find the gem
Of enlightenment relative to circumstance.
The more I look to others for love, the more I
Am not in sync with who I am most truthfully.
Solving not the big issues, I shine at the small.
In becoming more lighthearted, the less I fall
To the favor of others. And ultimately,
I’m as worthy as ever and shall always be.