accidentally realizing
[through morning page poetry]
that i’ve tried to package my life
my feelings
my emotions
my experience
my existence
into a narrative structure
with themes and things
all tied up in a nice bow of a simple story
for other people’s consumption
just to yell at myself
that my life is mine to experience, no one else’s;

whether or not i’m enjoying my life, no one else
should get to consume it until i’m
actually gone.

i don’t need to make myself digestible
especially when i’m not even in a
‘public eye’ of any kind right now

why
did i/do i
do this to myself?

[i just want to experience something
without worrying what others will
think, looking back, as if i’m some
kind of historical figure — is that
too much to ask of my own psyche???]