As I slay my ghosts

Plain, simple looks, 
almost sickly appearance, 
Narrow set eyes
Almost gawky, 
Like a poster boy of some far away, 
strife torn, tribal land
Malnourished,
Unnoticed and rejected
at home, by father and all else
Unimpressive in school,
in studies in debates
or anything extra,
I make no mark.
Till I almost stop suffering,
immune to all negative, indifferent stimuli
Thankful that the mother provides
some solace.
I grow up, trying to seek approval,
even attention,
get noticed, feel accepted,
Nay some acclaim.
I climb down
From the hills to the sea shore
Hoping for a fair breeze
to blow my way.
By and by it does
And I do
But somehow it feels inadequate,
Like my persona!
These seem like half measures,
my longing for more intensifies
As I stand secluded,
Surrounded by those beautiful people,
Those lovely, though painted faces.
Those broad shoulders,
muscled backs, penetrating eyes
Juxtapose and hammer in my own inadequacies
on a daily basis.
Pushing me on
To outdo them in smartness.
It works, it doesn't work
I swing, I struggle
pit goes on
My self esteem often staring vacantly
into my inner spaces
Then it returns
bewildered I set out to prove
It's not I who am inadequate
It's the outer, social space,
so full of incompleteness, hollowness
It's Unwilling, Unprepared meanness
to accept me as their own.
Till I reject them
With all my being.
But again, no one notices
My rejection gets internalised,
Consuming me
Burning me from the core
Till I realise I got to say it
Say it all
Because no one notices
my brilliance,
my internalised rejection
of body beautiful.
Looks matter, after all in this business of beauty
In this make believe cosmos
pivoting around beauty and romance,
Where am I with my internalised rejection?
So I got to get up and say it
Say it all
Ever so often
I hate you
You can't act
You are mediocre
You breed mediocrity
I stand before you
As the pinnacle of brilliance
You don't notice,
Except occasionally,
The women, oh those beautiful eyes,
Curvaceous bodies,
Hare Rama Hate Krishna chanting Hippies
from Woodstock
have eyes only for them,
Not for me.
Even in appreciation, I am academic
They are real!
I need to gnaw, shriek, yell
Yet no adulation comes my way
No swooning, fainting fans follow me
As I yearn for it.
Where are you Oh Father in Heaven
Where does it lead me?
I am your child
Accept me,
Give me a place
Under your sun
For I too walked this street!
This glamour street
Where no one loves me!