Bad Decisions

I am someone way ahead of the curve in making bad decisions.

I am someone who starts my senior year in college at 16 and registers for a schedule that will probably kill me.

I am someone who majors in Electrical Engineering, then switches to Philosophy at the end of sophomore year.

I am someone who wants to be an activist, but never goes to rallies, never marches with people of my orientation or race, passing for straight and white.

I am someone who falls in love with someone else when I know I’ll have to leave them behind.

I am someone who’s so terrified that my friends will stop talking to me that I’m too anxious to talk to them.

I am someone who sees patterns laid out before me like bricks on a straight road to hell, but keeps walking, tracing the archetypes of “pretentious jerk”, “paranoid recluse”, and eventually “cat hoarder who dies alone”.

I am someone who’s read enough books and seen enough movies to see where this is going.

I am someone who’s decided, many times, that my life isn’t worth living, even though it clearly is.

I am someone who’s realized, over the course of writing a poem, that the reason why life is worth living is because I have the freedom to be an impractical hopeless romantic cliché.

I am this weird kid who’s beginning to realize that I’m a real person, instead of a supercomputer making flawless calculations.

I am this queer, mixed-race Angeleno who doesn’t feel like I’m “not doing enough about it”, because I’m doing enough by being who I am.

I am this poet and this novelist and this musician who doesn’t feel like a narcissist for calling myself any of those things.

I am this sentimental nerd who writes sappy poems about the moon at midnight and feels proud instead of embarrassed.

I am this person who’s starting to think that I’ve made some pretty good decisions.

This poem is about: 


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