The Duchess Of Small Things II

Ever wondered why , for the life of you

Were you blessed with a wide-eyed consciousness
That never misses the faintest traces of a detail?
Knowing too much is never a bliss
And I sure don't remember asking for this
It is so exhausting
To lose yourself before a grand painting
To submit your grasp to the sensual gropes of feels
Or catch the swift bob of the dress of a lie, passing through someone's eyes
Baring your own skin while peeping at someone else's insecurities
Daring them to shame you the way you shamed them in your mind
It is so consuming
To be an expert in translating the language of uncertain lips
Being a receptive person that assigns a meaning to every corporal link
And learns the hidden volumes recited by unheedful blinks
Devoting solicitous metaphors to the living
And gladsome hallows to the dead
It is so alluring
Yet so abhorring
To be so utterly conscious of your grave disparity
It sows the seeds of vanity in your heart
Already plowed by the sheer enmity of self-acceptance
And the undying need to blend in