imaginary

we make up stories and people in our heads

as young children. we do this

because we are developing

a mind of our own.

we imagine a better life with a better job and

a better house, better shoes on better roads,

when we grow up.

but

i’ve grown up

and instead of make believe friends

and unicorns,

it feels as though the imaginary character is

me.

i feel like i have made myself up.

to fit standards, or be this person everyone wants,

and it isn’t meant badly, i don’t think,

i just don’t have the car, the wife, the house.

all i’ve got is me, and i feel imaginary;

just an entity gliding through

the same routines:

wake up, go to classes, come home, repeat

repeat

repeat.

i don’t feel human so much as robotic,

i don’t feel human so much as a spirit,

i don’t feel human

i don’t feel human

i don’t feel human

so much as a being with no form,

standardizing themselves for the

sake of people that don’t notice they exist.