It Is What It Is

I am a monster like quasimodo

Or caliban the natural man

Giving wild ripostes to my reflection

One ugly morning in a rage

Father threw an apple into my carapace

And like the invisible man

Directing traffic

I'd be ineffective

No matter how enthusiastic

Amid the masses' frenzy

In this massive separation

Appearance is everything

Nothing is how it seems

And civilized society

Is calm civility

I'm the phantom of the opera

Singing beauty and at ease

Or henry darger's autobiography

And that is curt clues to my essence

Planned obsolescence

Appearance is everything

Nothing is how it seems

In a market economy

It's called marketing

And not exactly clawing my way to glory

Nor whimpering in the wind

But once positively

I'm teetering on the brink

Of an all-out breakthrough

But sometimes clear headed

Sometimes a doofus

Sometimes very cordial

And sometimes aloof

I am syrupy optimistic one moment

Then gravely pessimistic the next

Irritable as a hornet sometimes

Then agreeable as it gets

I'm not a pagan

I don't worship anything

Not gods that don't exist

Nor the sun which is oblivious

I love my ancestors

But not ritually

I don't blame them or praise them

For anything that they passed along to me

I don't need stone altars to help me hedge my bet

Against the looming blackness

It is what it is