Day 53: Two.TwentySeven.13

There is a poet I hear perform around town. I absolutely cannot stand listening to him. It’s not that he’s bad, per say. In fact, people think he’s pretty great. In the past I tried to get into it – people around me REALLY seemed to be digging his work and his vibe – so obviously, I needed to listen harder.

Tonight, though, I actually had to tune him out. I could not bring myself to listen, or look. What I realized, is that I can’t stand listening because every word that comes out of his mouth seems inauthentic, fake. Even, actually, the way he sits, and walks, and feigns humbleness, seems inauthentic, fake. Like, he’s created this persona he thinks he needs to embody for people to like him. I wonder what the real him is like. I wonder if HE evens knows what he is really like. And, even if I didn’t like THAT person’s poetry, I bet I wouldn’t be repulsed. I bet, Authentic Poet wouldn’t sound like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.

The thing is, it’s not his problem I don’t like his poetry.

It’s mine.

Am I being inauthentic? Is that why he gets to me so much? Because deep down, I see those qualities reflected in myself? I would like to think not – I certainly feel authentic in my relationships with people and my self – but perhaps when it comes to my craft, my art, I haven’t found my voice and so am struggling to define myself through my perceived views of what others want. I don’t know if this is the whole truth.

Perhaps there is also a part of me that doesn’t like him because he reminds me of the types of guys I felt snubbed by growing up – who paid all kinds of attention to my beautiful friends but gave me not even a second glance. Try as we might, adolescent insecurities are hard to shake.

And then, perhaps, I am just trying to dig too deep. Maybe, it turns out, I just don’t like his brand of poetry.

More than likely, it’s a combination of the three.

Here’s to another day of creativity…


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