If I could be a fly on the wall in the minds
Of the people who know me, what would I find out?
I may know by osmosis or telepathy.
Compound eyes has the fly, but my own cannot see
Why most people ignore me. So riddled with doubt
That I turn to the occult and things of those kinds.
I do find the true answer by looking within
Where the soul has a dark space that I cannot hide
Nor can I hide within it because it’s so dark
That I’m blind even to my apparent birthmark
To be worn on the outside with much pride implied.
There are reasons why I get under my own skin.
A complex of bad habits, like talking too much
About only myself and not letting folks speak
Drive a wedge between me and all others I meet.
People do like to talk but not due to conceit.
It’s that sense of communion that most people seek.
Personality often is used as a crutch.
I don’t want to be ‘negative’ yet it’s my way
Of dissecting the challenges life offers me.
I should keep to my own self my piss poor outlook.
All the jerks in the world I must let off the hook
Just because I may be one. Again, I can’t see
Past the surface illusions that we all portray.
I know that I am boring, but not by first hand
Information directly from people, but from
The collective unconscious we have access to.
I know too damned much about what I have to do
With the pearls I am given, and it would be dumb
To succumb to society’s perverse demand.