Inside each one of us there’s far too much conceit
That we’re just unwilling and too shy to admit.
We all are too conceited to admit it,
And too embarrassed to even believe it,
Because in a world of instinct we live
A life of lie that to others we give
Selflessly and endlessly, and goes on the list
Of unctuous charity and beneficence.
Conceit is the belief, both implied and shown,
That we’re always correct and the others wrong,
That we’re the best and the others mediocre,
That we have more to share, the others little,
That we understand, the others simply don’t;
A way to preserve and uplift our faces
In a crowd whose same conceit we also possess,
That’s afraid to be outsmarted by all the rest.



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