POEM #2

I once met someone who'd read my writing online and during our chat, she said, you're different than what I thought you would be, you're soft. Her eyes shifted our entire conversation like she couldn't wait to leave and after we said our goodbyes we never spoke again, online or off. One time a few years later, she commented on an Instagram post of mine with a wincing face emoji, a sign of a stranger's snap judgment and public discontent. I never felt like I had to explain myself to anyone but I did anyway. All my life, I felt like I've been told by other people: this is who you are. I always find it funny and exasperating the callous lengths people go to to tell me what my personality is, what my career should be, and the one that I still think about: you're the lucky one. How is it possible that other people’s perceptions can cause such a deep sense of loneliness? And then I was finally alone and free and faced with the question/opportunity: well then, who are you? Have I tried too hard to prove myself that I'd lost it?