My Truth

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Hey, I’m sorry if I’m from somewhere
and not everywhere. Sorry I’m me and not
everyone else. Sorry if I’m committal,
educated—unattractive. Sorry if me
being me means me being judgmental.
Sorry if I am, indeed, the All-Time Judge,
Arbiter of Truth. Sorry if I win, have won,
and will always win because of who I am.
Sorry if my winning means your losing.
I did try, in college, to be open-minded.
I tried to read a novel. To drink chai.
I tried to travel, I did, I did. I stopped me.
Me being me back then meant me being
stopped in my own shoes as though
those were the shoes I was born wearing.
Of course that wasn’t true: and it isn’t.
I can change but mustn’t—in a sense, can’t.
Am, in fact, encouraged not to. I’m me
and will “do me,” as I’ve been told. I will
obey. I will keep on calmly carrying on
as this mud-hearted book-badger, this
hater of other men’s lies, this distruster
of children and destroyer of dreams,
this distributer of jokes and wincing
sighs, this damp-boxered fleshling
ambling rubberily from corner to corner
and streetlight to streetlight wondering
what he might’ve lost along the way—
wondering but, honestly, not worrying.

• • •

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