There are 16 types of people in the world.
That’s according to believers in the Myers Briggs Personality Types theory, at least – and I’m one of those. I won’t use up this post by explaining all the details, and instead suggest that if you’re interested in learning more, you take a look at this site. I’ve been fascinated by it for quite a while now, and welcome email discussion on the subject – particularly with those of the same ‘type’ as me, or similar ones.
I took the test last year. I am an INFP, and there’s really not any doubt about that when you read the description. Mine seems to be the somewhat neurotic, emotional, dreamy, angsty type – wanting the whole world to be peaceful and harmonious, agonising over discord, and feeling guilty about far too many things, all the while searching for Answers, dreaming of love and romance, and writing pretentious poems about the meaning of life. That’s not me, is it?!
Anyway. Enough about that. Here is a poem I wrote about the meaning of life.
I Never Find Perfection
They gave me but a minor role
On the world’s vast, crowded stage.
A bit-part in the final act
No lines until old age.
I yearn for the spotlight
But don’t want to be seen
I want to be adored
But I need to be free.
Let me have some decent lines…
Let me try…
Let me hide in the wings…
Let me cry.
I don’t want to argue, but you’re just not right.
I don’t want to be beaten, but I can’t stand to fight.
The world is beautiful.
There is love, and knowledge, and music,
and poetry, and laughter, and friendship, and…
…and pain, and hunger, and hatred, and
abuse, and war, and hurt, and corruption…
The world is ugly.
And I’m standing here in the wings
Waiting for my turn
Waiting for my chance to shine
Waiting for you to notice me
Waiting for Romeo’s kiss
Waiting for the battle to cease
Waiting for applause
Waiting for something to happen
Waiting for tragedy to end
and romance to begin
Waiting for the hero
Waiting to be the hero
But remaining that unnoticed bit-part in the final act.
In a silly costume.
With a mask.
(I’m not being entirely serious with this poem, by the way. At least, I don’t think I am. It’s meant to be tongue-in-cheek with a healthy helping of self-deprecation and a touch of humour. But what do I know?! Maybe that’s all a front, and I’m crying out to the world from underneath my INFP shell…)