Ought to look like

Here I am
Drafted by emotions
Not a single little notion
of what real art is about
I can only presume my ideas of the world are wrong
For I am such a slacker, a worthless bum
I know no real suffering or fatique
I'm only worried about resting, but I do not trully know work
I've never been submitted to real effort.

And here I am
Left with no way of turning back
Wishing things were different, but just unable to reach it
I feel fearful, I try to do things
But every act seems more and more dangerous

I'm not truly intelligent, I'm merely lost in a merasmus of looks and presumptions
No real things are had by me
A mere misconcept of what I really ought to be
Even when trying to be sincere and just
I only focus on looking, not being
And yet value being so much.
Of nothing I am worth.

And somehow I manage to merely go on
Without any motivation or cast
Seen I restrict and censor myself from any real inspiration or objective
seen frustration is an intolerable feeling for me
It must always be evicted and avoided

And because of my so told fear
I am never achieving anything

But I still question whether my deception isn't a mere residue of what today's culture got me in
I am not independent from the world, as much as I'd love to
I admit dependence on many things
But somehow just seek to completely cope in case any of my dependences are wiped

I can, therefore, conclude that
I am only worried about looking and affording
Taking and resisting
Never about being and seeing
Understanding and guiding

I do not truly believe my previous verse
But still I afirm that looks are very relevant to me

Although "being" should be the only thing being seen.

(10/05/2013)