I Write To Still My Inside Songs

 

I write to still my inside songs.

But words escape, they flutter fecklessly away.

I grit my teeth and bite my tongue.

Verbal tics have possessed me lifelong.
The disguises are displaying exponential decay.
I write to still my inside songs,

to shackle them with cursive ink where they belong;
expression of ignorant impression of air from within clay.
I grit my teeth and bite my tongue.

The context is lost and meter and meaning are both wrong
But phrases form perfume and colour my spiritual bouquet.
I write to still my inside songs.

And sometimes they're dripping with venom and vengeance from forked prong
But I never claimed to be Virtue in any morality play.
I grit my teeth and bite my tongue.

It's the battle to wrestle harpy squawk into birdsong
Sit and scribe, instead of say.
I write to still my inside songs.
I grit my teeth and bite my tongue. 

Hypocrisy

Hypocrisy,

I’m sad to say, seems to be

everywhere.

This unfair, self-sided

not sharing sentiment.

It’s meant I've bent my principles

away from empathy.

And yet, for me the beast

of these

self-imposed, self-broken laws

is the source of bitter courses

of reaction.

I act on what this serves to teach

me about my own breach

of codes.

I suppose I could deny any involvement

but self-absolvement is the last of my concerns.

Discerning behaviors distasteful that I once displayed

dismays me more than I can say

because if I recognize

that sly behavior it implies I see myself

reflected there.

and where is my authority

to deny life’s great variety

or experience gained through tragedy?

In hypocrisy.

Just there

perched,

cursing at its shadow, scowling

hissing at its own misdeeds;

impeding growth

of seeds of both

maturity and change.

It’s strange to compare the grey haired and blue haired versions of my conscience.

Did once I consider this all to be fine?

“What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine”

-          where flaws are found, resoundingly.

I’m not sure about my ability

to learn through humility

I’m much more likely to learn through humiliation.

And if the situation is just

history repeating with perspective skewed

I refuse to lose this chance to prove

I’ve changed.

And all the same,

this reframing of my shame

avoids placing blame

and leads me back where?

To hypocrisy.

unfairly

on this horse, high,

sighing self-satisfied smugness

while judging others

bloodlessly

from a position of

faux wisdom.

As though instances of insecurity

and immorality are things that

don’t happen to me.

As if I’m beyond that.

As if I’m not distracted by

fantastical thoughts and dreams

of grass being seemingly greener.

So between condemning

contemplation and the conduct

of freshly experienced rule breakers

remember to be kind.

You’ll find yourself at one point or another

struggling to discover

some earnest self truths.

And the proof?

Your own hypocrisy.

You’ll see it there.