The Restless Poet

I muse on my importance in this world. Do we all not wish to be notable? We are measured amongst others based on our relationships. One will have a higher value with one’s child than with the acquaintance seen on few occasions.

My own ego would like to believe that I am to another much more than actual truth. If we were to know the depth of that worth, would we lose interest in trying to be of significance to others because we are less than what we thought?

Introspection is noble, but at the cost of our sanity? To overthink can be detrimental to our character if we strive to see the effect of our deeds through another. Lest we fail miserably because we cannot live up to the hype in our own mind.

I do not wish to live in an apologetic state believing that I am to do penance as an act of becoming more to another. I tend to compromise to a fault, an expiation of sorts. One grand gesture followed by another. At what point am I satisfied?

Inward turmoil can only be corrected by realizing the worth I am and relinquish the burden of bowing to anyone or anything and be gratified with my golden identity.