I am: not poetry.
I am a perfect example—quintessential
Playing it safe
Following the rules
Forgetting to take risks
Doing exactly what I am told
Remaining in my comfort zone.
My vitality is negligent to functioning society.
Why am I
always worrying about my carbon footprint,
when an impression must be made
to force existence to remain prudent?
relevance, and seeking
safety—physically and financially
Attempting to keep apart of the economy—socially
Societal means don’t mean a thing to your individuality.
A trophy daughter—Show me off. I am Mary Wollstonecraft,
drawing the distinction between appearance and reality.
Mental disorders are [not] exclusive to the unhappy—
There was this one satanic teacher who told me
I am worth nothing more than a B—therefore,
being “okay” is all I can be, maybe?
Dearest friend—Are you
What am I?
All things are not what they seem:
People lie, and just tell you their dreams.
So why is there so much uncertainty ahead of me?
Although there shouldn’t be, considering I have done precisely
everything that I was told to be.
I am not writing an epitaph,
I am writing about “me”.
Even though there is still a gaping distinction between
Who I am and
who I want to be.
I am not my past,
I am not my future.
I want to make history, but I have a hard time
getting out of bed.
Instead, thoughts run circles in my head,
because who knows if my spirit
will live on after my body
Therefore, I AM—I have not decided.
I am undefined.
I am tired,
and do not feel like trying!
I am not a clock.
I am a ticking time bomb.
I cannot be determined by a single word in the dictionary because I mean
more than these few letters on the screen,
that scream, “I am me!” And I believe,
I have so much more to be, so to limit
what “I am”
to a single phrase,
distinctly distorts my entirety.
Is that the point?
I am no longer carefully choosing what would be “best” for me.
I am far from perfect; I am a deviant going against social normality. I’ve learned that
happiness does not lie in fulfilling your parent’s dreams.
Sagan said, “We are all
stardust” that means I am
composed of millions of insignificant particles of various elements.
Simply: lumped together, bundles of potential energy.
I am not well read.
You may not understand.
I—along with the other higher educated of my generation—am
not going to keep up in the global economy
if these pressing loans
keep building up in front of me.
I am confused
about whether or not I should
dust off my own dreams, or keep
within the means of the socially-constructed, acceptable boundaries.
Is this a result of a panopticonic trip,
or merely a Freudian slip?
Either way I feel as though my axis is
far too tilted.
So why would I impractically determine my future?
Based on a broad-topic major,
and then, when I decide that
that’s not what I want to be,
I’ll have an emotional collapse
because I can no longer define me.
I’ll just pretend that this is what should make me happy…
Even though in 5 years, there will only be that
1% who can earn those respected means.
So is this a matter of fight or flight?
For I will either float or sink? I am
And for that I admit,
I am not poetry.