I’m sick of hiding every day

I’m sick of crying every night

I’m sick of not being me,

   being me to myself

Sick of looking in the mirror

   and seeing somebody else

I realised to be me I don’t need to know who I am

But how am I supposed to be me

   if I’m afraid of what others will think


Sometimes I wish we were like butterflies

At some point of our lives we would turn

   into what we were supposed to be

But what was I born to be?


I’m not a she, I’m not a he

Am I an ‘it’? Am I an animal

   raised to the slaughter?

Am I a 'they’? Am I two different people?

Maybe


I am the Me I am to myself

I am the Me i pretend to be.