No wants to be an average man.
Instead we desire to avoid pain. But
A life without struggle is a partial life,
A grotesque half-man,
A walking corpse that does not know it.

No wants to be an average man.
We conspicuously covet above-average, while
We covertly lament the below,
Missing the entire time
The glorious wholeness of the mean.

No one wants to be an average man.
Which is strange,
For we yearn for the unattainable and
Average is so unattainable.
No man has an average amount of

Love, and pain, and joy, and grief, and
Flowers, and cockroaches, and lullabies and screams, and
Accolades, and roastings, and pillories, and parades, and
Children, and pets, and honey-soaked dates, and barren harvests, and
Sunsets, and sunrises, and rain-soaked meanderings and sun-drenched naps.

So here’s to the average man,
An ideal no one idolizes,
A perfection unattained,
The mountaintop we all climb
But can never summit.