Real PersonA Poem by astathisThis is my first work. It doesn't follow a structured pattern, and is all over the place. It's written in the way my brain worksWhat defines a real person? a human being regarded as an individual. How is one regarded as an individual? The google definition of regard says: consider or think of (someone or something) in a specified way. The google definition of the term specified states, identify clearly and definitely. Where is the line drawn between clear and definite? Is what is considered “real” based on one’s own definition of definity. Are we as humans most confident and comfortable in the terms that we have identified real people as? If one were to consider me specious, would that be true? Is it my own actions that could potentially cause reason for a real person to consider my entire existence to be fallacious. What makes a human being a real person? A person (plural people or persons) is a being that has certain capacities or attributes such as reason, morality, consciousness or self-consciousness, and being a part of a culturally established form of social relations such as kinship, ownership of property, or legal responsibility. Now I sit, typing at my computer wondering if I consider myself to be a real person. Does a real person sit and ponder this? Who do I consider a real person? Is there anyone I don’t consider a real person? Is there a line between human and person? Can one be one or the other without being both? Is it possible to be a human, but lack the standards of personality? If, regarding the textbook definition of “person”, could one that is not a human be a person? The faster my fingers type on my keyboard, the less certain I am. If I know more, I’ll let it consume me. Do I exist outside of my own perceptions of myself? Would a stranger consider me a real person if I walked past them? To you, the reader, I am words on a screen. You have no concept of my reality. All the nights I spend wondering if I’m real? Does a real person do this? Does a real person do that? I took a shower today. It’s been a minute since I had. What do real people do in the shower? A friend or two of mine have made comments about their hair shedding in the shower. I ripped my hair out because that’s what real people do. Real people feel pain. So I ripped more of my hair out. Is this what real people do? What is real? What if I’m making up the headache I have from pulling out my hair. I could dig my nails into my skin til I bleed because once I was a little clumsy girl who fell and scraped her knee. It felt real. What is real? What feels pain, and what doesn’t. Does the correlation between pain and inconvenience make me a real person? I smashed my glass bottle of perfume on the floor. The glass didn’t feel any pain, but I felt regret. Is regret painful? How does one define mental pain? It’s not technically real is it? Does that make regret not real? Does that lack of regret make the glass shards fake? Does that make me fake? If I took a glass shard in my hand and squeezed it til it ripped past my skin and bled, does that make me real? Does reality make me real? © 2021 astathisAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on December 24, 2021 Last Updated on December 24, 2021 Tags: reality, peom, short poem, poetry, newwriter, youngauthor, deepermeaning Author
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