When I was a child, I would lie to adults
about things I knew
and things I didn’t.Â
I purposefully got questions wrong
on tests far too easy for me
and would wait five minutes after I finished
to turn them in.Â
I asked questions I knew the answers to
and I would laugh along to jokes I didn’t like.Â
I do not know “me” without another
and I have no personality alone.Â
Everything I know about myself, I learned from others.Â
Everything I know about beauty, I learned from ugliness.Â
Everything I know about gentleness, I learned from the cold.
I perform the role of myself daily.Â
It is not natural and it is exhausting.Â
I lie to the friends
that I adopted a personality that is not mine
to make and maintain.Â
Prescription tretinoin clearing my skin
and soft warmth radiating from my body;
the stench of vanilla perfume and manipulation.Â
All this effort to make it look effortless.Â
I have played a role for so long that I do not know myself without it.Â
I am an impostor to myself—
I’ve created a life I am in love with,Â
friends and family I adore,
but I fear that it is not my own.Â
I fear I am not my own.Â