We’re competing to see who cares more
To see whose tears are quicker to hit the floor
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Become an activist!
Or perhaps don’t, and become Satan incarnate
You think you’ve got the world sussed out because
For thirty minutes, you were a slave to sentimentalism
Ignorant to the tenets of philanthropic fundamentalism
It won’t take you long
To return to your cocoon of apathy
To let this fad slip out of the recesses of your mind
To again become passive
To the perils of humankind
When you realise the reality
Of weeping children; of corrupted souls
I hope the guilt overwhelms you
I hope it punctures holes
And when Whitney died
You were her biggest fan
You crafted tweets to show your admiration
And her lyrics became your new fixation
But you didn’t know her
You weren’t her soulmate
She wasn’t your spirit animal
So when her back catalogue finishes downloading
Don’t paint yourself as the supreme authority
You think you belong to an exclusive niche
But you really belong to the majority
Where were you when she won her Grammys?
Were you listening to your second-rate hip hop?
Confined in your room
A brooding misanthrope?
These things occur naturally
They are organic, not mechanical
You cannot monopolise benevolence
You cannot be tyrannical
This is not a contest
There are no ribbons; no trophies
No medals; no applause
Your feigned compassion is just one lost cause
So you can drop the act
Your cute, endearing facade
Do not betray your true self
And let your dignity be scarred
If you bottled up the energy
You spent manufacturing concern
And focused it on things for which you yearn
You might be able to smile
On your deathbed
And when you die
The mourners will surround your corpse
Who loved you the most?
No, you did
We all did, of course!