It Is What It Is

I am a monster Like Quasimodo Or Caliban the natural man Giving wild ripostes to my reflection One ugly morning In a rage Father threw an apple Into my carapace And like the invisible man Directing traffic I'd be ineffective No matter how enthusiastic Amid the masses' frenzy Participation In this massive Separation Appearance is everything Nothing is how it seems And civilized society Is calm civility I'm the phantom of the opera Singing beauty and at ease Or Henry Darger's Autobiography And that is curt clues to my essence Planned obsolescence Appearance is everything Nothing is how it seems In a market economy It's called marketing And not exactly clawing my way to glory Nor whimpering in the wind But once positively I'm teetering on the brink Of an all out breakthrough But sometimes clear headed Sometimes a doofus Sometimes very cordial And sometimes aloof I am syrupy optimistic one moment Then gravely pessimistic the next Irritable as a hornet sometimes Then agreeable as it gets I'm not a pagan I don't worship anything Not gods that don't exist Nor the sun which is oblivious I love my ancestors but not ritually I don't blame them or praise them For anything that they passed along to me I don't need stone altars to help me hedge my bet Against the looming blackness It is what it is