Not really late,
but late enough to feel disembodied
from the person I am,
from the person I want to be,
from the person others want me to be.

Another person in the night,
who itches with longing
to live for herself,
to live for more than show,
to live for just the moment.

I can't scratch this itch,
It tingles deep beneath the surface
to be the one who rings true,
to be the one who feels calm,
to be the one I truly am.