Can a Person be TOO Popular?

At times I shelf
My feelings in a box
Locked, tied, hamstrung,
Sepulchered.

I don’t always know
The shape therein,
The textured manifestations
Of starred joy
Dotting life’s landscape
Emitting a soft brightness
Flexible in cheeky brilliance

But also sadness and pain–
A mismatch–being on
The wrong page,
A footfall lag behind
Other, more popular
Resourceful people.
Me, Always a squared peg.

Is it possible for another person
To be TOO well liked?

Missing the last step
On a winding stairway.
A stumble downwards
Into an infinite moment
Of nothing.

Despair–unreasonable spans.
Webs of acid clutter
Overreaching across
Oblong distances,
Tubular in its hollow fullness.

I rack my brains trying
To figure how to make
My life work out
In a way that makes sense,
Will nourish my heart,
Keeps me safe, healthy
And growing too, ideally.

I wonder if
I’ve been a fool
Lacking proper adult judgement,
A pauper urchin in my instincts,
To correctly understand people–

Demon shadows rise within
Fingering obscene hand gestures
Sporting ugly faces
Deepening my fear
As I wonder whether
I’ve been wrong to marvel in
Fine leaflings of trust
The beginnings of sprout
A daring to hope,
To actually arc my mind and body
To reach for futured “yeses”.

The crush of that possibility
Of having erred in this manner
Butchers me open
Leaving grizzled intestines
Dangling in forever length rust.

A wholesome unwellness
Just for me
Right here, right now.

Popular

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