Unoriginal Title

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.