Member-only story
An Accountant Tries to Value Themself.
And fails miserably — a poem.
It seems it isn’t royalty or rank or status that will define the course of your life.
It doesn’t look like it’s education, knowledge or profession.
It isn’t the family you are born to which measures the love you are worth
or the family you find, or the family you make.
It isn’t what you look like that is the measure of what you deserve
or the adornments that glitter, or the mask you paint on in the morning.
It seems the only thing that plots the path of life and thus your measure:
is the ability to see the world in all its emptiness.
To open your eyes and see; Open your heart and feel.
Then accept that most of these things aren’t real.
Seeing through the mirage, realising that you cannot force a damn thing.
Certainly not others and yourself only slowly.
Once stripped of all the unreality, might you find who you are.
Then you could perhaps begin a measure, a worthwhile pursuit, seek a path.
I wonder then, though, if we get to the point where we see so clearly,
if we would ever…