I’m always pretending,
Pretending to be someone else,
Anybody but me.
I’m good at pretending,
I’ve spent all my life,
Perfecting my skills.
Like the consumate actor,
I play my part,
And mouth my incoherent lines.
Strangely though,
I don’t remember anyone saying,
That I had to pretend.
It’s like I somehow decided,
That being me wasn’t good enough
So I should be someone else.
Perhpas I’m afraid to be just me,
Afraid of what I might find,
If I delve too deep.
I’ve been pretending for so very long,
That the only part that I can’t play,
Is me.
Is it possible do you think,
To live a life and then to die,
And never know who you really are?
