This loneliness is killing me
Just as much as everything
Else, I suppose
I will know who I am
Eventually
But probably not.

Am I ever being me
I am not so certain
Every reaction feels so shallow
I am not committed to the self
that gets pasted onto the minds
Of those people
Who talk small
and stretch their faces
And ask my name,
my opinion
What do I do,
What I have done.

Too many questions that just mean
Nothing. Maybe
That is who I am.