PHILOSOPHY OF HAPPINESS

 

 A THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL EXAMINATION BY MARTIN JANELLO

SHINE KNOWING SHAME

PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTES & POEMS

 

II. DEFENSE AND PRETENSE

 

8-pronged white star with a black rhombus in each tip.

they keep us like children

fed warm and busy

so we won’t reflect

on their rule in a tizzy

 

 

 

she had a problem

with being polite

to silently hurt

to not hurt another

 

 

 

we claim giving up

is not an option

while all the while sensing

how close it is

 

 

 

her pride kept

getting in the way

of anything

to be proud of

 

 

 

pretty girls

often shielded from truth

by men who lie

lying in waiting

 

 

 

we don’t care much

to think or feel

all we’re consuming

has done that for us

 

 

 

how much of panache

is being at odds

and going to lengths

not to show it

 

 

 

say what you want to caution me

a whish of her locks

a flush of her lips

a flash of her eyes

throws all to the wind

 

 

 

deathly afraid of reality’s questions

we spin it to knots and nets

holding up answers

 

 

 

Most do not want to explore why we are here, what here is, and how to react, fearing the answers or the inability to find any.

 

 

 

a time when we listen

to loudmouths

to drown out the pains

of our inner voices

 

 

 

how i am

is a rude inquisition

leaving me showed

you don’t care anymore

 

 

 

the lie becomes truth

if we lower our hurt

by going along with power

 

 

 

she suspects she

could have any man

hooked flapping on her line

that’s why she’s so careful

not giving any sign

 

 

 

never threaten

a lover to leave

extortion will not

beget what you need

 

 

 

no one can put forth

an even keel for long

without being held at night

 

 

 

i feel you want to go

and try not to let you know

that i always lie

about wanting you free

maybe oh baby

that’s why you’re leaving me

 

 

 

drowning in predictable muck

she thought she could not

remove from her being

 

 

 

she always had him catering

insisting it payment

that she’d be a client

 

 

 

here’s to the lies

that keep up our lives

 

 

 

she calls him an artist

as if a disease

a quirky oddball who puts up a piece

a humored child with disgraces rife

an uncouth zealot full of strife

to be kept at a distance

from her ordered life

 

 

 

don’t be a victim

and if you are

know others assuring

you won’t remain

 

 

 

but you won’t see me

and though you do

you’re scared of me

i’m too much like you

 

 

 

where and with whom

and how you are

i don’t dare ask

as much as it kills me

 

 

 

you state what you claim to be

tight from the getgo

as if you fear someone

will question that

 

 

 

people with lacking control

may try to compensate

by exerting it over others

or worshiping it in others

 

 

 

mostly pretending

life won’t be ending

acting surprised

when it does

 

 

 

using others as stepping stones

choking their lives

and crushing their bones

they call it getting ahead

 

 

 

her penchant

for the overly dramatic

made him hold back even more

 

 

 

tedium slows time

causing wait for its passing

some prefer that

so their life seems extended

getting an edge on forever beyond

 

 

 

she hates to think

like everybody

unless they think

the way she thinks

 

 

 

not good enough

at sight unseen

obsessed

with judging herself

through others

 

 

 

she calls me a man

as if it could keep me

from ever being her friend

 

 

 

some men feign toughness

in compensation

for their natural state

of deflation

 

 

 

the beautiful dolls

get all the applause

their movers and shapers

stay back for their cause

 

 

 

he goes for who says it

not what is said

looks for what someone is

ignoring trait

 

 

 

she’s afraid

to be nakedly honest

among a mob

raping clothed with deceit

 

 

 

the hard and the soft

are roles and reversals

but in the end

we’re boned watery flesh

 

 

 

to warrant inclusion

attendance and pay

patrons may sway themselves

liking the play

 

 

 

many build shells

around themselves

to travel unscathed

through life’s many hells

the valiant go naked of armor

 

 

 

she is afraid of him

taxing her life

with not much in return

 

 

 

he pleaded with her

why do you claim me

if wanting to love you

is reason to shame me

 

 

 

we are flowers

sometimes thinking we are rocks

we love calm light

seeking friends in storm and night

to not be afraid anymore

 

 

 

wondering what’s wrong

with all these people

how can they live with their sternity

 

 

 

charlatan’s empires

built on fear

and telling people

what they want to hear

 

 

 

she needed his love

to be sacrificed cruelly

on her bloodstained virgin

altar of pride

 

 

 

holding so much in reserve

saving soul expressions

for days which continued

will likely never come

 

 

 

she held back unsure

that being with him

could make up the pain

of his absence

 

 

 

she does not want love

but love keeps wanting

to take her existence hostage

 

 

 

she plead temporary insanity

love ought not need such humiliation

 

 

 

most of us do not want our freedom

because it deprives us

of certainty’s safety

 

 

 

what if we had no tolerance for liars

 

 

 

he acts like he’d like

to catch her attention

but then he’s afraid

what to do with it

 

 

 

we choose to root for teams

who don’t know us

would we not rather have teams

who know us rooting for us

 

 

 

i’ll try to look better

behave more to like me

now that love

has me under our guns

 

 

 

pretentiousness worn ironically

like cowboy boots

on her marzipan feet

 

 

 

i thought i felt

i had the impression

most sorries start like that

time to come off

our minds’ high horses

and walk through life without a hat

 

 

 

i want the real

even if it’s not

what i want

 

 

 

how can it be

that men chase or flee

not stand their ground

till peace is found

their death blood life

a bond to ban strife

 

 

 

she’s busy making people buy

into her fierce self-admiration

pays tokens no attention or tribute

 

 

 

thick shells

become encumbering encasements

once we decide to move about freely

 

 

 

thoughts of us

seeds that stay

over-protected

cursed to decay

 

 

 

don’t hiss dissing this

your mind

the forked tongue

of an angry curled heart

 

 

 

the first thing

she told me was prejudiced

as if to protect her

from being mistaken

 

 

 

she never had hands

upon her before

and flinched from the comfort

his touch meant to give

 

 

 

indifference and ill will

kill tender parts of us

trusting we’ll be quiet

pretending not to be hurt

 

 

 

we deem the sun is rising

when our ground is turning

and keep this way surmising

with neighbors’ houses burning

 

© 2013-2017 BY MARTIN JANELLO

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