Self-empowerment poetry: Me, Myself

I’m sitting
Cramped
In a tight spot
So jammed between neighbors at our breathing mingles And we as a whole
A Whole
Act as one behemoth Consciousness
Identity
Being
And every breath I breathe
Is but a solitary note
In the orchestra’s context.

And yet,
My timing is slightly o .

I march to the beat of a unique drummer
Whose booming whacks are
e speed with which blood courses through me

To dictate my diaphragm
In its intricate intake patterns.

I am di erent To be simple.

Not di erent enough that I don’t belong,

But also
Di erent enough that I can’t belong.

You see,
I look like you Walk like you Talk like you

Dress like you (Well, sort of) Act like you-

And that is all a lie.
A very subtle one at that, In that
I may be you in the Outward sense of the word But
Inside
I have a di erent build
I am of di erent stu .

You feel it don’t you?
You feel it subconsciously
In the back of your mind
On the blackest horizon of your Jungle imagination.

You can kind of feel it
Oozing o of me
In the slight in ections in my voice And the awkward edge of my Gestic- ulations.

Is it okay with you that I am di er- ent?

Not in the merit of diversity
Or ethnicity
Or population density propensity No, it’s in

Rather more of a detail oriented di erence
With few, but
Signi cant

Changes in my script.

I hope to heck it’s okay for yo Because

It’s now well ne with me.

I used to ache with a persistent nausea
at only came to light in that savage Late hour when
I’d be brushing my teeth to the beat of a song
I was humming in my throat, when I would
Check if the bathroom door was locked so I could
Wail my heart out
Without worrying about how-
Well-
Dumb

I sound…

And
After-
I would look at my gaunt face in the unforgiving mirror
In cruel, uorescent restroom lighting

And feel a deep-seated sense of dis- comfort
As though I were a square peg in- Well-

Okay, ne
A square hole, yes,
Which,
Would be nice if it weren’t, So tight a t.

I’ve given up on that headache.

I no longer give whether I will ever truly belong,
Whether
All my friends are the leftovers of the clique draft pick

Whether
I am nervous about entering a new system.

Now,
I am my own system. My own rulebook. My own to judge.

Know that I am very happy to accept you, as
A part of my life

A holder of a sandy handful Of my ephemeral time and Attention.
But

I won’t waste my e orts
On someone who isn’t worth it.

My only standard is Basic decency.