Just as an open note: I wrote this in my underwear, with an unshaved face, contemplating whether or not 12 cups of coffee was “too much” if I pulled an all-nighter, all while in a pretty deep depression because I had just found out that I was another regretful one-night stand.
It is a poem about getting back up. It is a poem about repression. It is a poem about the self-hatred that wrongfully comes from feeling perfectly normal but intense emotions, and having no one to tell you that they’re perfectly normal. It was not meant in a pretentious, “I’m better than you if you don’t wear pants, or if you don’t shave, or if you drink coffee” kind of way. The “better than” status of someone who shaves, wears pants, and only drinks water is kind of the point of the poem. It’s kind of the point of beating yourself up when you’re not the person other people wish you would be. It is not written about the masses. It is written about myself.
So if you are offended, then I apologize that I offended you. I should’ve, perhaps, included more parts where I specifically state that I am that boy, but wish to be anything else in that moment, perhaps so that others will like me more and perhaps so that I, myself, will feel less like a failure. But it’s a poem and I kind of felt like spelling out the point would’ve made the whole thing moot.