Giving Up

The moment you became your not-self happened
over the span of a multitude of breaths, each one shallower
than the last.

You learned
how to rearrange the sound-bytes
of your modular elevator pitch
to elicit thoughtful nods
from whatever suited shit-pile stood nearest

and the endless feed of one hundred forty
character summations of your character
was never enough to satisfy the salacious craving
for acceptance of the person in the mirror.

Your professed authenticity
but you haven't loved a bone in your body
for a medieval lifetime
and you gave away your face
eventually without being asked

maybe because you gave too many damns about being loved
by those who only wanted
a collection of skins to clothe their bare concrete floors.

But your flesh is now your own
your bones
are stronger from the breaking
and you have given up on being ashamed
of the scars
because they slant your smile in a way
that is far more smoldering
than the perfection you have been seeking.

You may be more alone now
than you were before
but your self embodied is much better company.