Performative profundity falls flat
When contradictory content
Names your true nature.
Your talk belies your own talk—
And small wonder why we balk.
Your testimonial truths
Are wishy-washy and weak-spined.
Surely you can’t believe we’re blind
Enough to swallow that scripted sludge.
Conviction’s more than catchphrase carousels
Or costume changes to match your mood.
We weary watchers see the true script.
Your fire fades under the friction
Of your rented righteousness.
For clout—and comfort—your conscience swaps.
And somewhere between your morals
And your marketing,
The meaning melts.
Your hollow words won’t burn long,
And their smoke clears quickly.
Say something real, risky, and raw.
Bleed your beliefs and back them up.
You’re all posture and shine;
A palsied pulse with no spine.
