Disguise.
I often feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.
I don’t know what mask to put on.
When to put it on, when to take it off.
It’s getting harder to keep track of the multiple personas I’ve conjured up throughout the years.
All to please the person or group of people I associate myself with.
The sad thing is that I know exactly when I began creating these false narratives of myself.
And every time I feel like I can take one off, it snaps back on like glue.
I’m not a teenager anymore.
I learned that the only person I have to please is myself.
Now I just have to actually apply this lesson in my life.
I don’t want to disappoint anyone.
But by watering everyone else’s flowers, I’ve slowly been destroying the roots of the tree that’s provided shelter to everyone else.
What will be placed upon my gravestone someday?
The comedian.
The writer.
The loner.
The shy, naïve girl.
The sensitive crybaby.
A friend.
A daughter.
An enemy.
A weirdo.
A wandering soul.
Who am I?
Truly.
