Becoming

I've become someone who

fakes it to avoid a

fight -

someone whose pleasure is

mechanical and

unearned.

 

Whispers go

directly into my brain like

morphine to the heart.

They say,

"The veins and fat on your thighs

are wrapping around your mind -

so wear makeup to highlight the

gold in

your eyes."

 

Planes take off above me,

they say,

"You've become someone who

does the bare minimum to avoid

death-

someone whose existence is

mechanical and

unearned."

 

I've become someone I don't like.

Someone who spends money

someone who's in love.

I've become something I don't like.

A consumer, an abuser,

another insecure girl with shaking thighs.

 

I write my Ayn Rand essays so I can

stay in school.

I write my press releases so I can

stay at work.

I lock the front door so I can

stay at home.

 

I've become someone who

has a direction but no

willpower.

Someone whose main goal is

distant and beyond.