What matters is what I think of myself.
Everything else is just …
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
I get a lot of unsolicited advice on who I am — who I should be — what I should do and what I should feel. As irritating as that is, I keep quiet because I’ve grown tired of telling people “Thanks for trying, but I’ll only do what I want”. Better to let them mouth off whatever they’ve siphoned from la la land if it makes them feel important. I used to think its disingenuous, letting people dole out advice when I wasn’t listening. So I would cut their sermons midway, but then feelings got hurt, so hey, by all means. Speak.
While we’re on this subject, this Politically Correct world is a mess. Take this micro-poem for example. To avoid offending some people I’d have to preface it by saying “I’m not saying what other people say isn’t important, I’m saying what I tell myself is important”. To me, that’s garbage.
I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you if I haven’t infringed on your freedom. How does saying I only care what I think of myself affect you negatively? It shouldn’t. What bothers you, is you thinking your opinion is important, far more than it actually is.
Too often, people over-estimate how valuable their input is. Rein in your ego — just because your lover swoons at every little thing you say, doesn’t make everyone else your lover. Tone down, relax. Your one-size-fits-all mentality shows just how shallow you think people are; and perhaps by extension, you.
People are complex, varied and in need of different things. Treat everyone with respect, be open to seeing who they are, not who you think they are. And if all of that sounds like too much work — Give this post a hard pass and keep tracing your stencil, outlining every single person you meet. Soon after? Stop whining when people call you out for being an entitled *bleep*.
The absurdity in the title carries the same absurdity I find permeating in people who assume knowing one person is knowing them all. (I don’t usually like explaining my poetry titles – but whatever) see, there’s no way in hell souls can tessellate. Souls have no shape, souls are not bound by polygons or vertices. Or maybe they are — if you are content with having a limited imagination. Either way, Good luck fitting me on your mosaic pattern of souls.
The gall to call me “proud” simply because I’m not a kiss a** who needs approval from anyone. I’ve burnt plenty of bridges to get where I am today. What’s one more?
Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life. Last I checked I wasn’t a pastor.