Not by how we act,
Not by how we dress,
Not by anything,
Except the way we walk.
In our actions we speak of carelessness,
Of conviviality.
In our dress we speak of boldness,
Of vitality,
But we speak differently by the way we walk.
Our backs are perpetually curled,
Our heads always down,
Our steps leaden
As though plagued
By two thousand and two
Pounds of criticism.
That is how we express our feelings of desolation,
Of uncertainty.
Of pressure.
But we are perpetually trying:
Always straightening our spines,
Always lifting our heads,
Always struggling to lighten our steps.
But without observing the way we walk,
You�d never guess it.
You�d never guess the pain.
But we�ll keep trying
To straighten an lift and lighten,
And make it so you�d never guess it,
Or at least make it less obvious.
Or maybe it�s just me