A Note On Aversion
At times, I feel like we’re stuck in 1984
Not the actual year, rather a metaphor
The one created by the great George Orwell
For no matter the disgust, my eyes would have to conceal
No matter how I want to run home and dive into a book-
I’d have to smile, greet, walk with a polite look
So much as a wince could give me away.
And I must, at all cost, prevent that materialization
Because in a twisted way, in order to survive,
One would need to master the skill of pretension
Inside, It doesn’t matter what you truly you feel
Not as long as your act is really, really mean.