A poem #86 – What’s chosen to be…

The girl dances, embraced in the city,
trying to understand just what it all means –
kippin’ down in a different doorway each night,
and having five-star dreams.

In the shop, that half-handed woman,
struggling on;
outwardly conscious, to the world,
of appearing half-born.

That single mum-to-be, sway-backed,
in tall heels shuffling through the crowd.
Carrying only a poor self-confidence
and wearing it as if she were proud.

That suited man with his big life plan,
playing dress-up, pretending –
still just a boy
beneath his skin.

Just sing along with the masses,
because the tune is so sweet,
and one day we’ll all die happy,
unquestioningly.

It’s easiest to choose what’s already chosen to be.

JP Collins

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