Hypocrite

Standing in a crowd, I bend and play, To their chaos, their noise, their sway. Saying "yes" to all I despise, Does that make me a hypocrite in their eyes? Crafting stories to please and pretend, For so-called friends, to what end? Masking rudeness as gestures sweet, Does that make my hypocrisy complete? A decoy to their games I’ve become, Smiling, polite, though I feel numb. Feigning care, avoiding the fight, Does that make me wrong or just polite? No, not at all — the truth runs deep, What makes me hypocritical is the vow I keep. Cheating myself, my resolve fades, Among illusions and roles I’ve played. From the start, my mask I wore, Deceiving myself to the very core. Isn’t that the greatest hypocrisy of all? To condemn it now, as I stand tall.