real phony

People have always thought of me as a phony.

Like I’m pretending to be this person.

I make up stories. Lie.

Or at least exaggerate or embellish. 

But I’m real.

Really, real.

Like, it’s a real problem for me.

I can’t be anything else – any other way.

I really struggle to edit or act differently in different contexts.

People find me rude.

Intimidating.

Dishonest.

Dislike me.

It’s difficult for me to make friends.

People think I’m only doing things to make them think I’m cool.

But I’m not.

I genuinely am cool.

I really do like these things.

I really am this person.

And it’s not just that…

I’ve always been this way.

I like what I like.

I do what I do.

 And it used to make me weird.

A loser-freak.

A loner.

 It’s not my fault that a couple years ago the world caught up to me.

I’m still weird and isolated.

But now I’m cool.

My vegetarianism, eclectic taste, mixed ethnicity, weed smoking, bisexuality, film making – the fact I ride a bicycle, my bipolar– even my god damn empathy.

 I’m still isolated but now it sort-of looks like a choice.

But I still can’t fucking help myself – I have no control over being this person –

But that doesn’t mean I want any.

I know who and what I am. Little things shift and change but the machine is basically the same.

How can people walk around not being real. Pretending. It must be terrifying – exhausting – sad.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve started to realize that nobody seems to know who they are.

I never spent any time trying to be cool.

I spent my youth figuring out who I am.

I started off trying to figure out what was wrong with me and realized I just didn’t know how not to be me. So I just focused on getting my head around that instead.

 Now I know.

And I genuinely like myself.

I’m the real deal.

I’m genuine.

And I guess that’s cool as fuck.

And lonely as hell.

In a world of phonies.