You know those people — mostly women, I'm thinking about my competition here — who are incapable of taking a bad picture? For realzies, they're all like, "Ugh, I guess I have to use THIS photo to document day 17 of my yearly trip to Europe. I know, it's just so horrible." And you're like, "Ba--Faaa--jiggida--whaaa?" because it looks like they just got splashed with Fountain of Youth water and hit with sparkles from a vampire's body and their "messy hair" is like a unicorn's main.

Anyway, you know those women? I'm not one of them.

And so I have a way of thwarting anyone who would dare critique my baby-fat-that-just-won't-seem-to-leave-my-face-like-ever, or my hair-that's-been-struck-by-lighting-with-17-rats-nesting-inside-it. I just make myself TOO easy of a target, so then people think, "Why bother? She's gotsta know there's something wrong." You can't make fun of what I've already made fun of for you, suckas! Take that, Miss-Pegasus-Goddess-of-Perfect-Skin-and-Yoga-Pants! Sincerely, Ogre-Legs-with-the-surface-of-Mars-face.


There I was
thinking it was something
worth hanging onto.
That it was something
worth even a second thought.

Now, ten thousand selves onward,
I see the lies from all angles.
And I see how those lies
began with me.

I compromised
and rationalized
and believed
what was not actually there.

Imagining an ideal,
Conjuring a fantasy,
because it was better
than waiting for reality
to quicken its death march.

So there I was,
and, well, here I am.
The same, but not at all.

Because today I allowed the truth.
I permitted it into my view.
And I looked into what I had
so expertly been avoiding.

It had become too obvious
to ignore.

I'm ashamed of my past selves
for allowing such deception.
For creating it.
What a fool!

And yet, a fool still.
But at least—
at least—
this fool can release what was—
what never really was—
worth hanging onto.

©2015 e.gosney