I am not who I think I am
Nor am I simply what you want me to be
How I perceive myself to be, this is only part of me,
And what you see when you look at me, I can never fully know
Only the glimpses that you may show to me
My reflection in your eyes
that’s helping me grow, slowly
or perhaps not.
But what you see is not all of me either
All of us weave a
of which quite little is outward thread
And the mess that we’re hiding
can be what’s most exciting.
But some feel this unsightly
so we tidy it quietly
and pretend we’re no more embroidered than an Amish nightie.
When secretly we’re more like lace lingerie.
So before you tire of me
My identity is the entire me
And there is
more than meets the eye.