Story of My Feelings

It's madness. That's what it is.
A complete culture trapped.
By voluntarily isolating itself.
It is safe to remain stuck,
within the grandest delusion.
Never having to face up to it's self
for there is no one to hold them accountable.
The people are lulled into acceptance
by artificial opulence and alcohol.
It's "leaders" drunk upon the
illusion of power and  importance.
Like rats trapped in a maze
we repeat the same mistakes
over and over again.
We see misery and suffering
and isolate it to the lower caste,
separating ourselves from them
within glass houses of  morality.
And yet, at some level, we know.
We can occasionally see
around the rose-colored glasses,
we recognize the rampant hypocrisy
but blink it away,
as if it were a speck of dust.
When even the self righteous believe
they behave selflessly,
do so only to impress others.
And far be it, for anyone to dissent,
for they will be ostracized as a whiner,
or worse yet, to offend
when they were merely trying to defend
what they desire.

We put on our armor of jingoistic pride
even when we are not under attack,
no, now we pull it on so that we may cower within it
and hide from anything which could bring us
into direct confrontation with the reality.
With our armor fully in place we can easily
protect ourselves from the slings and arrows
of cold and harsh truth; we easily dodge facts,
allowing them to bounce off of our armor
and protect us from having to see the brokenness
which surrounds us, but with the face plate
of our helmets down we also prevent
ourselves from seeing our own brokenness.
Instead, when we look into a mirror
we imagine ourself in fine linens and trimmings,
and we are satisfied with our perfect lives,
even if they only exist within our imagination.