Classism Poem by Yohan Confectioner

I reek of ostentatiousness,
recite lines in conversation
from the books I pretended
to be buried in,
assert morality like
it were written in stone
and am chauffeured around
in mind and body.

My parents ensured I read
The Great Poets,
Tutored me in the culture of
Classical Instruments,
Dressed me in flamboyant fashion,
and instructed me to uphold
the family name.

As I grew older, I fell in love,
based on the idea constructed
in romantic novels I read as a kid.
Took up the family business
in the name of honour
and the honour of name,
won the respect of my peers,
and the admiration of my subordinates.


Grew old and grey, gracefully as prescribed,
drank champagne on the front porch,
while reminiscing the glory days:
patting myself on the back
for building fame and fortune.

But as the grey turns
into the black of the night,
I look back at the idea of myself:
just a passing spec of dust
tossed around in the wind.