Désir du coeur
The hollow vanity is swallowing the pain,
Seeping into the vein is a mundane drug,
There’s no escaping this social order,
The gift of technology burgeoning into a bane.
Set me free, I cry,
Catching the fancy of umpteen riveting eyes.
The banausic thoughts spell little comfort,
Entangled in the tentacles of expectations, I am so hurt.
Dreams gone awry, goals misplaced,
I want to be a product of my choice, not of a click bait.
The hypocrisy is suffocating, repugnant and vile,
A farouche me cannot comply, so they call me puerile.
Not much though, a free bird is what I want to be,
But I must stay here and accommodate in the social decree.