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

tangled web

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.


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