People continue
Calling me interesting
By which
I think they mean interested.
This, of course,
Is boredom misrecognised-
And I don’t care to explain how my hope was euthanized.
I rather prefer to sit and relax,
And watch others assume that I’m more than a tax
On their time.

And if there ever was
Weight to their words,
To bring my mind down
From the clouds,
If with proud and boastful strides
I swathed through deep thoughts and brushed aside
Nonsense, naïve beliefs and lies,
Replaced foul whispering and cries
With truth and a certainty to sting,

I still would not
-And here’s the thing-

Make a single cent,
Out of being interesting.

-Nicholas Markham