Is it necessary?
Churning up drama,
Just to get you,
To the top,
Gaining a high social status?
What does,
Being popular mean to you?
Does it fulfill your empty soul,
Hungering for attention,
Seeking disciples,
To lap up all your lies?
You used to be,
One of the rookies,
Way below,
Supporting the pyramid,
Baring humongous weights on your shoulders.
You're tired of it,
Weary,
From all the hard work.
Records,
Were set,
Only to be broken.
You fought so hard,
A brave soldier.
Once you have carved,
Your name at the very top,
It's not long,
Before it's time for you,
To descend back,
Into the dark mass of the student body.
To let go,
Of the golden crown and glorious title,
Is so hard.
Your emotional ties with it,
Laced intricately together,
With your heartstrings.
Ripping you away,
From the glory,
Means tearing,
All of your heartstrings,
Leaving you in crippling heartache.
The dark masses,
It's what you're so afraid of,
Being a peasant,
A commoner,
A nobody.
Is fame that important?
Everyone knowing your name,
How does that fill you?
With fame,
Comes criticism.
Their venomous string,
Of colourful words,
Will they corrode your smile?
Dampen your satisfaction?
The journey to and from stardom,
Has only started.
Brace yourself,
Boarding the rollercoaster,
Flipping your organs,
Making you green around the gill.
After the ride,
The world spins before you.
You're confused,
Vision being clouded,
By all the social standards,
Set unrealistically.
Wake up,
We are all mediocre,
Welcoming you with open arms.
