tallonrk1
12-21-2015, 12:51 AM
Sometimes I wish I was a terrible person.
Sometimes I wish
I was the person I hate.
The person smoking weed in broad daylight,
as if society exists outside of themselves
as if they have special privilege to where
they can’t just smoke weed at night in a park
like normal people.
The person who calls people out on their ****
who expects society to conform to their own needs
who let’s someone new release inside of them every night.
The person who writes themself into a poem.
Its inherently narcissistic—
writing of the self
when there’s a whole world waiting to be written.
Maybe I’d be happier that way—
these solipsist moments,
the insight of only belonging to one being, and no one else.
Isn’t that freeing?
The incarceration of the self—
do you hear the freedom in that?
I could almost let myself be myself
and “we”
could refer back to myself,
for once.
And
I think the fragility of friendship makes that easy.
Like breaking off a piece of
chocolate,
only to throw it out the window,
and let it melt under the sun. Just like it always wanted. Did you think
“friends”
meant anything more than selves pretending they are more than a self?
Do you hear the deception in that?
If we let ourselves be open to “we,”
we risk belonging to nothing.
The next time someone walks up to you on the Pittsburgh sidewalks,
and calls you an idiot,
tell them that they’re right
tell them to keep throwing the punches
someday they might land.
Sometimes I wish
I was the person I hate.
The person smoking weed in broad daylight,
as if society exists outside of themselves
as if they have special privilege to where
they can’t just smoke weed at night in a park
like normal people.
The person who calls people out on their ****
who expects society to conform to their own needs
who let’s someone new release inside of them every night.
The person who writes themself into a poem.
Its inherently narcissistic—
writing of the self
when there’s a whole world waiting to be written.
Maybe I’d be happier that way—
these solipsist moments,
the insight of only belonging to one being, and no one else.
Isn’t that freeing?
The incarceration of the self—
do you hear the freedom in that?
I could almost let myself be myself
and “we”
could refer back to myself,
for once.
And
I think the fragility of friendship makes that easy.
Like breaking off a piece of
chocolate,
only to throw it out the window,
and let it melt under the sun. Just like it always wanted. Did you think
“friends”
meant anything more than selves pretending they are more than a self?
Do you hear the deception in that?
If we let ourselves be open to “we,”
we risk belonging to nothing.
The next time someone walks up to you on the Pittsburgh sidewalks,
and calls you an idiot,
tell them that they’re right
tell them to keep throwing the punches
someday they might land.