No one is going to lie to me.
Everyone lies to you.
All of my poems are perfect.
None of your poems are perfect.
I will not grow old and die.
You will grow old and die.
Nature will not be indifferent to me.
Nature is totally indifferent to you.
Art, philosophy, and learning will set me free.
Art, philosophy and learning will enslave you.
I will accept imperfection and be happy.
Imperfection accepted is the measure of misery.
I will work for the best and satisfy myself by that.
The worst always finds the best and makes it its host.
All who really know me will love me.
No, they will hate you or pity you.
I don’t want anyone’s pity.
You are going to get it.
But you are different; you will tell me a good thing.
I am not different; I am like all the rest.
Where is my comfort, my dignity, my truth?
Where is our comfort, our dignity, our truth?