I’m so fancy

So says Iggy Azalea.
But when it comes down to it I’m just not afraid of her.
Twerking and smirking so fast she’s a hazy blur.
Grinning and swinging herself around like she owns the place.
But, I say with dismay, I can’t condone her childish tone or lack of grace.
And her selfish nature makes me want to hate her and smack her face.
But I’m not here to talk Iggy specifics.
Or get scientific, analysing her ass that defies the laws of physics.
Watching it veer and wobble is truly horrible, it’s like a poor chick flick.
Compelling like a car crash but oh so clearly horrific.
Although the workrate of those buns, those rear action lady guns, is quietly prolific.

No, I’m here to talk vanity.
The favourite sin of the Devil as played by Pacino.
Seducing Keanu with his eloquent mean flow.
And now words like selfie are official diction.
We’ve legitimised what most used to see as superficial fiction.
Now we’re all bloggers and photographers, critics and mystics.
We all crave fame yet speak in riddles, cryptic and twisted.
We all think society owes us something just for showing up.
Defiantly thinking we’re a commodity, like we’re hot property ‘cos we’re blowing up.

But who am I to talk?
I’m the one sat typing away on my digital blog.
Spouting views as gospel like a mystical God.
Who cares what I have to say?
Though when you’re this fancy, it’s best you let nothing stand in your way.
Feed that flow so you start to grow.
If you don’t you’ll rot and decay.
And you’d best believe you’ve got fans to please.
Don’t leave them hanging this way.
There they are confused, in disarray and consumed by dismay.
Play nice. Meet them halfway.
Remember, you can be both realistic and narcissistic.
It’s your job to guide them through the waste of culture dodging vultures with your simplistic linguistics.
Calmly face your foes as you go.
There’s no need to get sadistic or blow up ballistic.
You’re invested now so make sure you’re fully rested, prepared for when you’re next tested.
And keep it tight.
Stay on your game – don’t let yourself get bested.

So… that’s it.
My vanity has taken a square hit and I’ve put myself in my place.
I’ve gone through hell at pace in the humble race just to save face.
And now I’m set to brace for what comes next.
It’s a lot to absorb but I had to get it all off my chest.
So for my final thoughts I’ll just say this was all for my sanity.
A cathartic benchmark to pull apart my true levels of vanity.

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