Status

“What’s on your mind?”
Shut up, Facebook.
I’m not here to spill my soul
into another scrolling feed.

I’m talking about status—
not likes, not clicks,
but standing in society.
It’s not what you know,
it’s who you know.

Some chase it,
some wear it like armour.
Once they’ve got it,
they don’t care what you think—
because they’ve arrived.
And we? We’re just the plebs.

But what does it buy you?
A pedestal, higher than the rest?
Snobbery. Foolishness.
Lavishness. Loneliness.

Status isn’t all it seems.
You can hold it in your hand
and still be hollow—
always learning, never teaching.

Status whispers:
you’re too good for common people now.
But you weren’t born into it—
you clawed it from power’s grip.

Now you stand apart,
a black sheep in a flock of cream,
shunned,
your world splintered into shards.

We laugh as you freeze—
a deer in the glare,
pieces at your feet,
no clue what to do.

Status?
No thanks.
I’d rather be me—
a pure form,
and that’s all I’ll ever need to be.