Selfless

What's in a self that could pose a value

Except for those things perceived?

We play many parts to flaunt false ways

To alter of us what's believed

I can pour out my heart in majestic words

Or at least within my own eyes

Yet zero's its worth in poetless lands

So instead I present forth some lies

"A man should be manly" presents a thought

Yet redundant and obvious frill

We know what it means though this way I'm not--

Minds more than blood would I spill.

Open and sharing, worried and caring

I'd impart all my thoughts for your ears

But rather what's valued's a jersey for sport

Or a gun and a large case of beer

By standards of men, one I am not

Yet one I assuredly am

So I hide away feelings and insecure thoughts

To promote much more of my sham

Even now writing I consider its worth

My mind begins racing in pain

Drivel and spit is what it emits

And sharing would surely be vain

The value to others melds with my thoughts

My own writing is garbage and bunk

The words now infuse a trigger of self

For my heart is equated with junk

Cry for me, woe, is now what I read

Yet this is by no means intended

I give up myself to be what you want

And you know not what you have befriended

I mustn't be me for no value exists

Unless others of me take delight

It's a risk to be sure and one I abhor

For from me I could never take flight

Much better it seems to be more than me

And delude even me what is true

Yet every denial and grasp of a lie

Makes me ever so deeper a blue

This poem, complete, shows I lack decent skill

I'm inclined to hate it with might

And yet it is me, whether I like it or not

The composer of poetry shite!