Who am I?
Why do I need to see me with your eyes?
Who am I? Am I female, am I poetic, am I funny? Am I a goofball, a nerd, a Japanese food lover, a self-conscious philosopher? Am I enough–am I female enough, am I poetic enough, am I funny enough? Am I goofy enough, nerdy enough, love Japanese food enough, philosophize enough–to be called “me”? To be known as “I”?
I try to be me. I overthink, I worry. I want you to see me the way I see myself. I want to be who I am. Why can’t you see me as who I am?
But who am I? Am I just a collection of ideas, an artificial puzzle put together with carefully selected pieces–in order to compose a picture? A picture, an image that is presentable? Am I an open book, that can be easily read? Am I crystal clear in your mind? Can you see me? Can you see me now?
Why am I so obsessed with the mirror?
Why do I always return to this place? Where I stare at myself, and I don’t see enough, I put myself down–for not being “me” enough?
Who is this “me”? Who on earth is this “me”?
Who am I?
Why do I need to see me through your eyes?
Save me. Somebody save me from my own piece of mind.
