Poetica – Identity sans culture

I’m not like my folks,

though they wanted me to be –

stories with advice.

 

Kids made fun in school

of whom they thought me to be,

laughed behind my back.

 

“Where’d you get that name?”

“What’s that funny stuff you eat?”

“You talk so weird, too!”

 

“If you want to fit, 

don’t wear that thing to work,

and mind your hairdo.”

 

I could not be me

to survive in this world,

being hand-me-down.

 

Don’t ask me who I am.

Don’t tempt me to nostalgia

about old assets.

 

So now I’m cosmo.

It’s just stereotyping,

having a culture.

 

Flaunt my uniqueness –

that’s my chosen strategy

(to hide loneliness).

 

I can't stand the pain

of being all that I am,

letting you see me.


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