My nervous system is a beautiful thing, but I don’t think about dancing the way I used to.
I thought of my step-brother a few days ago, but it was really just thinking about myself and how I used to be like. I’d tell him, “I liked who I was. Remember who I was?” And he knew me long before anyone else I know. I was always crazy, and fun, and wild. I was. Maybe even somebody reading thing knew me when I was like that. But then I’d tell him, “You know, I know I changed. Something happened. I remember when. And I changed. And I just want you to know, I know I changed, and I’m not exactly happy about who I became either. I am who I am, and this is who I became, and what a fun little know-it-all asshole I was. I wish I was still him too, but this is who I am now.”
I’m not in the mood lately to whimper about not being liked. I’m nice to all the people nobody else likes, that’s why I’m not liked I tell myself. Maybe I am a good person. I feel terrible. I’m still just a runner, among other derogatory terms for a man. I recall a week before another bad thing happened, I wanted to tell one of the few men I know who I have some respect for that “I’m not going to make it.” I knew that I was not strong enough, God aside. I am not weak, but I can’t fight everything, and always win. Some feelings hurt worse when you can’t give up. But because the man was a part of something bigger than myself, I knew the truth.
Ben Bonkoske 