A Self I Didn’t Create

A poem.

The tree was growing in the early stages of its life, but it all started to die when all of its humanity was being drowned with the toxins of the environment.

I was once a swimmer.

The silence of water below the roots of the earth felt right.  

My body separated from the screaming and noise telling me to act in a certain way.

I had no control over the interactions people were having within each other, but I had control of my identity. 

I found a purpose with myself when it was quiet.

And there’s that. I got introduced with my first Iphone and all life between all bones, tendons, and muscles in my body was controlled by the blinding lights of the screen where I couldn’t see anything but black dots behind my eyes.

…

 Tik Tok. The name gives me goosebumps. “Tick, Tick, Tick” reminds me of one of those grandfather clocks where time is on repeat. The same sounds on a continuous cycle. 

Time disappeared for me when I engaged on tik tok.

Time is gone, so was I.

There was no me, when I was exposed to the lifestyle of the other.

I could never prioritize myself. It was always a food fight. I never thought throwing food at someone could be so competitive.

Even when I was advocating for myself by posting, I wasn’t posting about me.

I was posting what an audience would find entertaining.

It felt very relieving to get as many likes and views as I could to feel an intrinsic reward. 

I was the trapped pinball on the corner of the machine. 

The pinball was hidden out of sight just as though the mirror I am looking into has a dissolved shadow of someone I cannot see.

I was a self that I didn’t create.

…

The signals in my brain always craved the screen while my mind actively rejected it.

I took a picture of my face. My facial expressions never changed.

The similarity in emotion advanced through time, that I couldn’t see anything but a self. 

It wasn’t me. Snapchat was someone else.

I couldn't snap out of it.

It was a self I didn’t create.

…

It’s almost as though the wind storm is blowing me aggressively, no control of I, which was then placed in a box. Shaking heavily, I feel a loss of autonomy. 

I was positioned to grow up alone. 

Then I suddenly posted that aesthetic pose of me in the field. 

The world can see me in the box peeking through the tiny circular hole. 

The box was iridescent, while the world was black and white.

Instagram was not me. I was one for the world to see.

It felt scary.

I didn’t recognize myself with the crowd.

It was a self I didn’t create.

…

One memory faded after the other.

A domino effect, but instead, I was the domino pieces falling on each other.

A sunflower field, full of the natural world.

My hands in the air, dancing with the leaves caressing my body.

I looked at my phone.

My memory was lost, and the sunflowers were no longer there.

And with me, I wasn’t there.

…

I wanted to be educated, not an addict of feeling like I had to be approved by others.

I did grow in height, but I didn’t grow as a person. 

But I was not me. 

What was growing was branches half dead dangling off the tree.

I deleted many platforms.

A simple touch of a button. My eyes no longer blinded, and I could see my reflection off my dirty screen protector.

Not permanently dirty. 

And I see myself. My phone as if I just bought it, tears in my eyes knowing that I grew in the peace and quietness with lavender oils dispersing in my room.  

It was a self I wanted to remake.

—— Anonymous