How can you find,

Who you are,

When you're constructed of lies?

 

Everyone thinks they know me,

Thinks they know how I feel,

How I think,

What makes me sing,

Makes me breathe,

Makes me live.

 

But they don't know me.

They don't see the secrets I keep,

The insecurities,

Hopes,

Fears, 

And dreams,

That I bury beneath the jokes,

The apathy.

They don't know the me,

I don't let anyone see.

 

Everyone thinks they know,

But they only have a piece.

What am I left with?

Where does all the pretending leave me?

Do I even know me?

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

Look within?

 

Who would be left,

If they saw the real me?