Sometimes I try to be like everyone else
I look in the image plastered on my mirror and hate my own reflection
I try to make up my mind and end up with foundation spilled on my forehead
I want to have someone admire me and tell me they love me
I want someone to say I look good
I want someone to tell me they adore my fashion sense
Get people to approve of my taste in music
I sometimes hate social networks because someone I used to crush on said they’re dumb

Some other times, I want to be like people that are not part of everyone else
Those classified as different
I wear unmatching socks
I leave out wearing wrist watches
I talk to myself while walking on the road
I tell people I’m weird, or abnormal, or odd, or any of those fancy terms people use to describe those kind of people

Both these two times, I want to be a lot
Both these two times, I want to be someone else
Both these two times, I stay away from being me

Then there are times I try to be me
But I fail everytime
Cos there’s no real exact me
There’s no defining the way I comb my hair
Or keep my nails
There’s not a particular way I like acting
I don’t know if I like football or not
Or if I really actually like music
Or if I like me
Sometimes I’m scared there’s no me

But there are the fewest of times when I don’t try to be anyone
Not even me
And even though there is no particular form or action I seem to recognise being in
I remind myself that maybe, just maybe, that’s who I am
Maybe I cannot be described by actions
Maybe I am above words, and music taste and fashion sense and poetic metaphors
Maybe I am just me
In all the plainness of that
In flesh, bone, blood and sweat
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be described
Maybe I wasn’t meant to have poems written about me
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be

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