Inspired By: ‘Solitude’ By Emma Wheeler

Your family prosper when you succeed and thrive
But fail, and they’ll sting you like bees from a hive
Looking in from their hot seats of criticism and flak
Adding this defeat or win to their always growing stack

They’re outsiders looking into your world of woes
In your jail of isolation, writing poetry and prose
But they have their own messes and many issues
That most often pushes them to need tearful tissues

I do really want to go to the country to shout and bellow
But I fear my octaves will be equaled to an untuned cello
I try my best to not judge, because we’re all fighting battles
Like herding armies and calvaries through our minds like cattle

My exile and isolation, I hate and revel in it
Separate from others, in which I bask and sit
I hate it with the dark side of my cardiac organ
As I feel it hissing like Medusa, Poseidon’s Gorgon

Your family deflects your unheard voices
Only caring about their like-minded choices
Disrespect, is disagreeing with their beliefs
You must kiss the ring of your tribe’s chief

But then I am also a lover of people and humanity
Despite their dumb decisions, arrogance and vanity
Though socialising is sometimes good to partake
To talk with relatives or others, and often handshake

The whispering walls have eyes but also they have ears
An encumbering lack of privacy, one of many of my fears
I love the outdoors because I find suburbia boring
But not the fields of festivals that stink of sweat, beer and urine

They choose to care when you’re cheerful, joyous or happy
But then they shy away when you’re dark, gloomy or sappy
Your soul is the darkness, a cave filled with horrible creatures
Then when you feel this way, you face reveals dark features

My family sees this and say I should see a holy man or a priest
As I see myself slowly turning into a foul, vicious beast
Grandmother says I will go to Church when the time is ready
I’m a cynical reader, and “Spotlight” made my mind unsteady

Be happy, and your circle spans countries and nations
Be sad, and they’re attending your funeral or cremation
Most only stand with you when your life is simple and easy
But not at your lowest, because it makes them feel queasy

Many brutally hard truths send people to a galaxy far far away
But lies keep your supposed friends on this planet at bay
Don’t you think it better to have outright lies than honest truths?
And now I am very alone in an isolated photograph booth

I look at the screen showing me my own off-center reflection
With the prescribed pity, discontent and my every imperfection
Two dark orbs with brows and lashes, also a nose and two ears
Young spherical eyes that look so old with an aura of bloody shears

I am an artist, an analyser, a thinker, a black sheep who likes to travel
But at society and the crooked system, I like to nitpick and unravel
Now alienated myself from the outside and common ways of thought
I am a fugitive on the run from the masses, out of fear of being caught

Solving the case of one’s life or biography

Is so alike analysing a film’s cinematography