…of all the facades I am sick and tired,
I am a cavalier with my lance pointed, but it is not to war I aspire,
I have a far deeper desire;
To see myself freed of this miasma,
Away from this character so bolstered by a role only titular.
I am breaking out,
Like this disease with which I am plagued, I am gaining clout,
Not gaudy and pretentious, hardly even loud,
But pertinacious and observing subtlety, gritting my teeth and avoiding the easier pout,
I could be ever so raucous, belligerent and hell-bent, on the Lockhorn route,
But instead, I choose to defend my own head, keeping it cool and casting away doubt.
It’s easy to see why you are needed,
But it will never occur to me why you must be heeded,
For all I’ve seen is a puerile display from one by whom I’m, apparently, supposed to be led,
I am forced to keel over, break if I must, but certainly bend,
Welcome you to a warm bed, wrap you in a blanket as you walk in drenched,
I daresay that with time I could never be more profligate, I would sooner see myself off the planet.
We shall dance this routine, choreographed by those whose hands I cannot force,
But that shall never change the outlook from within, telegraphed by personal demands I cannot enforce,
I am never going to feel remotely vibrant because your many words, never hear you when you talk,
I am never going to be less hesitant, never near you when you want,
Consider this the best operatic display you will ever witness, directed and scripted by me of course.
We were never made so that eye-to-eye we could see,
Were it up to me, it isn’t, quite tragically;
We would never meet
You have your guy, now please leave me be,
You have done enough damage as it is;
Should you feel compelled to take the exit,
Trust me, it would probably be on merit,
End of the hall and to your right,
though frankly, you never really walked in.
Never to be yours in perpetuity,
Evans Mbora Campbell.