poetic ugly

It’s beautiful

-these ugly things.

They’re real. 

Not posed to look real.

What’s real anyways?

When mom told me to smile,

And forgot the landmark.

Capturing that big, bold smile.

And missing teeth. 

What’s real, indeed?

When I wore too much jewelry.

Cheap things. 

In bright colors.

They made me happy.

That was real. It was me.

I’ve grown up since then. 

But I’m still prone to make a statement.

With forgotten texts

And drunken flakiness.

So I’ll be less real.

Make goals.

Forge aspirations

Reach after things

That maybe I never wanted.

Tuck away anxieties. 

Acceptable only in moderation.

Authenticity, hoisted on a pedestal.

The vulnerable? exonerated! 

But only if they are in perfect composition.

What is real?

My life without filters?

My life in neutral colors?

Forget the sepia, the neon, and chrome.

#nofilter 

Pictures unposted tell a different story.

Picture of a rash;

“Hey mom, is this okay?”

50 bathroom selfies because I feel sexy.

They’re too real. 

No one wants real.

Or authenticity. 

Just the allusion of genuine existence. 

Marketed to fools

Reviews

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

It's sad how in this life we cannot be who we truly are. we can't be real; we have to be fake. This was well written!