Maybe

I always spoke my mind and said what I believed necessary to be said.

When I caught mom in a drunken lie, I confronted her and argued with her. 

I never minded staying up late on school nights to engage mom in a screaming match.

Maybe I am just looking out for the rest of my family.

 

Tonight, instead of screaming, mom cries and holds me.

She has, for some reason, chosen to explain hersef rather than go on the offensive.

It hurts to learn the things she finally confides to me in her slurred speech.

Maybe people are more complex than I understood them to be.

 

I always liked to talk about myself, I never kept secrets from my friends.

If someone told a funny (or better yet, scandalous) story, I had to top it.

You think that is tragic? Well, listen to my story! 

Maybe it just helps people understand me.

 

Tonight, someone else has talked about me.

An ancdote about a first date I had months ago has been told to the wrong person.

It spread. Now people who have never met me now think they know me.

Maybe it is time for me to stop oversharing.

 

I always had trouble picking my battles. If I noticed fallacy, I pointed it out.

When a friend said something that contradicted their actions, I mentioned it.

People, I prided myself in believing, should value authenticity more.

Maybe people should not be lazy when it comes to morals.

 

Tonight, I find myself behaving in an inexcusabe way.

I realize this is not uncommon, that I am not everything I want to be.

My hypocrisy makes my heart hurt.

Maybe I am no better than anyone else.

 

Who I was and who I am are vastly different.

I am not a child anymore.

I know this because I have stopped trying to fix other people.

I have started to fix myself.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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