• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 08
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The Beauty of Stoicism

What made me stoic?
My image is the scapegoat
of man's hate for himself.
I understand the greatest need
of the human spirit is to be understood,
To be heard, seen, and loved
is at the forefront of the human condition.
All throughout my life I've heard incessant
discontented intolerant babble
from the mouths of ignorant men.
I can sense thought, emotion, energies.
The conflict, the voices, the hesitations,
My inner workings are sacred
like the psychic gifts of the Lemurians,
But who can understand the richness
of my invisible world?
Who can understand Stoicism?

When I was young I was taught
to obey and submit to my elders,
To speak when only spoken to,
I stood with tied tongue.
A product of environment.


The Beauty of Stoicism

Do I know who I am?
Have I not been corrupted
by earth's most ferocious animal?
I've listened for so long to the rantings
and opinions of a misogynistic society,
An empty society that covers their lack
of contentment with verbosity and fine clothes.
I chose to internalize.
Keeping the pearls of intuition
and knowledge to myself.
I tied my tongue and stood my ground
amidst the raging hordes,
Expressing myself more and more
through the practice of apatheia.
Freedom from frustration,
Until Stoicism awakened.

Memories of a past life,
All the distant voices that demeaned me,
Saying,"You're not good enough,"
"You're not pretty enough,"
I internalized the lies spoken,
And now I've found true beauty,
The Beauty of Stoicism.