What I can’t tell my mother is that I ate half of a slice of pizza tonight.
That I don’t want to be anything when I grow up.
That I don’t want to choose between myself and myself with a partner.
Because they are two different selves.
That I don’t want to ever cut my hair and I want it to grow down to the floor.
That another human being doesn’t fulfill me.
That I find comfort in being alone.
That I don’t know how to share my life with another person.
That I simply don’t know how.
That I am unbelievably selfish.
That I can’t keep a job for over a year.
That I can’t stay in one place for too long.
That I’ll never make enough money to be able to give back to her.
That I might just make enough to survive.
But not enough to be considered successful.
And that I’m okay with all of it.