Boots Polished

A sudden shift in comfort,
Clothes bland and formal,
Mannerisms safe, a well-oiled routine,
Humour caged, fed scraps of the day.

 

I’m told I’m now a ‘grown up’,
Man, does it suck.

 

Been preparing for this quite some time,
Been told it equates to success.
Been running around foolish-like for quite some time,
Been told it had to stop.

 

I’m sure the sweaters and cardigans will soon give,
To something greater than a suffocating itch.
Still feeling a fish out of water,
Still missing the days of yonder.

 

And yet, I feel compelled to prove,
That I do not cower in the face of challenge,
Even if I must learn that lunch room small talk,
For my ego is much too big, too burly and too stubborn.

 

Maybe its my ‘If they can do it, so can I’ rationale.
Maybe its my complete disregard for due diligence.
Or a simple need to blow the lid on this popsicle stand and show…
That exclusive as it may appear, it really is not.

 

For that is the product they sell,
And the busy bees consume,
A sense of superiority,
Sold at a price we can barely assume.
Buy a blazer and wear it well enough,
Create a fake laugh,
Show enough teeth,
Appear to care even when you don’t,
Because these are the goons,
And you’re putting on a show.

 

There’s not many places left for the disenchanted,
Grumpy-like and unsavoury in their truths.
But they’ve saved me a seat,
I told them to.

 

Though before I join my legion of kooks,
I’ll try my hand at academic gobbledygook.

 

For there once was a time when some would dare say I was gifted,
With the gab, with the spirit and the in-between in it.
But after grooming, training and censorship,
What sits in its place now,
Mere showmanship.

 

I know when to smile,
What to say,
What’s expected,
And how to deliver…
Only problem is,
Now I’m disconnected.