Authenticity

I don’t want to be inexplicable
or unfathomable or even esoteric.
I want to be grace.
What-you-see-is-what-you-get,
fully stitched in to my own soul.
Grace.

I want people to get such a sense of me
that after our first brief meeting,
they will want to remember me to others
with faint admiration on their breath.

Not that I want to be admired,
but I want to know what it is like, to meet someone
who knows what it is like, to meet someone
who is so authentic.

And they don’t even have to like me
or agree with me, but they will be
absolutely certain that I’m not someone else,
when I step into the other room.

Then this will make them so inclined to collect me, keep me,
set a special dust-free place on the mantel for me,
between Grandma’s antique clock and the picture of the dog,
and that funny piece of driftwood
they found that time at the beach.

Yes, that will be nice.
Then I can just be me.
And I won’t have to be anyone’s lover,
Or the housemate who takes out the trash,
Or even the manager at work everyone respects.
I can just be me,
And all on my own like that

I will never be alone.

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