everybody insist that they know me,
that they know my insides as well as my outsides;
on how many times i had a breakdown,
how many times i smiled for the world,
and how many times i was myself.
but the truth is,
how can anyone know me as much as i do?
that seems impossible,
possibly maybe because i for sure
am not sure of what i am
or neither what's inside of me,
or even what i'm capable of.
i don't know what i like,
i don't know what i dislike;
i might as well be a sculpture,
at least i'd have an appearance worth paying for.
but what if i'm not all that you said i was?
what if i was lesser, or even maybe a bit more?
i mean, who knows?
i wish i knew.
but most importantly,
i wish i knew how to at least accept myself the way i am.
i wish i knew how.