This poem is not about authenticity
it is about hiding
behind layer upon layer of melted chocolate,
drying my body shut like long-standing beliefs.
This is about looking at my phone instead of going on a run,
it is about daydreaming thru Target
thinking of completing
an imaginary check-list that tells me:
"Congratulations on buying this toaster oven.
You are now a man.
You have completed the adult collection set."
This is about me wishing I believed in bucket lists.
It is about me knowing going to Europe
makes me feel empty.
It is about wishing I was like everybody else,
it is about me being like everybody else
but also not.
This is not a poem about authenticity,
this is a poem about hiding.
It is about smoking weed with my friends
just so I could be with my friends.
As a teenager, authenticity meant organizing parties
even though I hated drinking
because I thought I wouldn't be loved
if I didn't give people what they wanted.
Nowadays,
authenticity is about looking at my boss,
while smiling and shoving
all my rage and my
Walmart-on-sale emotions
down my throat.
This poem is about hiding
because as hard as I try, I don't always succeed
in being myself at the first try
and for that, I'm sorry.
Nobody deserves
this half-assed version of myself
but this half-assed version of myself
deserves me,
my love and my care
so I won't be able to hide anymore.
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