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To Be MAG
January 3, 2022
In a world of shining, shimmering stars, I feel like a black hole of incompetency,
pulling in theatrically threatening thoughts built on my failed emotional maturity.
I often look up to these heavenly bodies, planets plastered pleasingly in the night sky,
and I wonder: how can I be divine, in this confined, contorted, convoluted mortal body of mine.
I wish I could see the beauty in myself, like my friend, Galileo Galilei.
I, for one, have searched the seas but have never found the key
to loving this mortal body,
to love being me.
© Andrew P., Anaheim, California
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I wrote this piece out of frustration with myself and my ideals. With the growing popularity of fast-paced consumer media, it is easy to fall into the trap of envy. When looking at the roots of my envy, I see nothing more than a distraught 16-year-old pressed on by the perfectionist gaze of others. Instead of separating these perspectives, I adopt others' disdain of me.