While trying to type “authentic,”
My phone autocorrected
The misspelled word to “arthritic.”
What began as an intention
To discuss who I really am,
My authentic self,
Veered into a forecast
Of my arthritic self,
Who I will be when I’m old
And osteoporosis
Stomps through bones
Once exceptional.
But this poem isn’t even about that anymore.
It’s about a typo,
What I meant to say
And what I actually said.
It’s about an accident I made a minute ago,
Which is life, I suppose:
A series of things
That go as planned,
As well as unplanned.
And I suppose it’s also life
To get old by mistake
While trying to express
Who you truly are.