I’ve been dreaming so foolishly,
in such inane sequences of envy and coveted-ness.
All the time that’s been wasted,
hatin’ the player instead of the game . . .

is it all worth it?

I am not the model, nor the football player.
I am not the ladies’ man, nor am I the party starter.
I… am 155 lbs. of humanity and insecurity.
I am bony arms and legs, with bony fingers and toes.
I am a mark in the middle of my forehead, received from a childhood accident.
I am gaps between my teeth, teeth which, by the way, are not the whitest they could be.
I am dark cocoa skin, a mixture of my father’s ebony skin and my mother’s caramel skin.
I am joy, I am pain, I am sunshine and rain.
I am fear, I am doubt, yet envy is a sickness that needs washing out.

I AM ME, I AM ME, I AM ME, and from now on, I will be me until there’s no more of me.