If you only knew . . .

that I can see behind the facade of kindness and gentleness that emanates from your being. Your serenity precedes you as you walk along the path; self-confident yet unassuming. You are the type my mother should have warned me about. Still waters run deep, they say — but it’s not always true. You are as shallow as the pool that Narcisus gazed upon. Like him, your focus is personal, self-absorbed, and limited. You do not see the resentment created by years of control. Control administered with a gloved hand and silver tongue is control nonetheless. To the external world your virtues are extolled — and you capitalize on the sacrifice, suffering, and mayhem of lived experience. Exaggerated deprivation is belied by a lifestyle of privilege that you can’t or won’t acknowledge. Identity is fluid — shifting and changing as we present ourselves to the various audiences we encounter every day. But you have congealed yours as it manifests itself as a personal mystique to be commodified, recognized, and adored. Secretly, we resent the serenity. Secretly, we see the lie. Secretly, we know that there is no joy behind the mask of tranquililty.

2 Responses to “If you only knew . . .”

  1. great poem. it tells the tale of so many.

  2. is this llorona?

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