There's something peculiar about being myself.
For one, I am always confused--
why am I so angry?
I don't understand how to be me
and I am always so, so lonely.
Sometimes I wish I were you.
In all honesty, I don't care about you
or who you may be. All I know is you're not myself
and even if you're alone, I can live that other kind of lonely.
It could just be yours, and I wouldn't have to be so confused
about what's mine and what's me--
I could afford to not be so angry.
Sometimes I feel like I am angry
embodied--maybe that's why I want to be you--
Because as long as I'm not me
I'll have no worry of myself
and I won't have to be confused
about why you always leave me so lonely.
It's only of my own design I'm lonely;
if I could pretend what you did is forgivable I wouldn't have to be so angry.
But I will not allow myself to be confused
any more about why the most important you's
would trade me for seven hundred dollars or a handjob. To be myself
is to leave all I am to be me.
My grandma always asks how it is being me
and I can't seem to tell her I'm lonely
because I don't want her to know my self
reliance is involuntary, or the fact that I'm angry
is the product of you's
always leaving me confused.
I hate being confused
because I just want to be me
unbothered with the world of you's.
If I was fine being lonely
I could not be so angry
about always having to be myself.
I guess there is solace in the solitude of superlative. I'm the God of being confused,
of lonely, of me. And when being angry at you finally
takes a nap, I can take a minute to just be by myself.
