Some mornings,
I wake up and look at my reflection
and wonder who’s wearing my face,
the one with my eyes but not my soul.

I move through the hours
like a man who’s lost his shadow,
my own voice sounding like
someone else’s story.
The words come out
but they feel hollow,
empty shells
of things I never meant to say.

This skin feels wrong,
too tight,
too foreign.
I want to step out of it,
but there’s nothing underneath—
just old memories
and promises I never made.

I once knew who I was,
a version of me that walked with fire,
light in every step
and a quiet confidence in my chest.
But now I search for him
in the spaces between breaths,
in the silent moments
where I almost remember
the man I was before
I became someone else.

I’m tired of chasing a reflection
that isn’t mine.
I’m tired of feeling like a ghost
in my own skin.
But maybe,
just maybe,
I’ll find my way back
through the cracks in this armor,
back to the man I lost
without even knowing it.

And when I do,
I’ll stand taller.
I’ll be the man
I was always meant to be.