Being Human


It welcomed me at birth.
It was there when I took my first step,
my first nightmare,
first day of school.
It was there when I won;
it was there when I lost.
When I picked myself up, because I refused to lose-
to imagine myself carrying around this burden-
and I pushed myself forward.
I know it's there,
I can feel it around me
in the air and it will leave when I part from this beautiful planet-
Whenever sun and moon collide like old rivals
and days aren't as dreamy, like the taste of orange soda.
As we start to believe we're supposed to hate the skin we're in,
because that's what we've learned from billboards and posters.
We shouldn't dwell or regret,
spending hours being slaves to the scales.
But what is the point to this thing we keep doing?
Shouldn't we be waiting impatiently,
knees chattering together, for a sunset in space?
Should we spend our stir-crazy days pretending we're good dancers?
What is this feeling of just being?
I can tell you-
It's called living.
It's being human.

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