Please excuse me while I figure out who I am
I’d like to introduce myself to you but doing that is hard when I don’t know what to say
I feel as if I’m mute, yet I do have a voice
A voice that reflects who I am, or does it?
Is my voice mine or one that was given to me
Determined by a context, culture, society, economic status
The confusion imminent
My mind clouded with ideas and concepts about identity and what that means
Am who I am really who I am?
Could there be a chance that I never met myself even?
How would I then present myself to you?
I know
I would say that I’m a person with a story
Everyone has one
Only, I don’t remember my story, how or why it started
You see it’s not so simple because my story needs patience
I’d like to tell you my story but would you even care?
My story could be boring, sad, entertaining, or even inspiring
Only you would know, as you judge whether it was worth your time or not
Fundamentally, I care what you think because my story and my voice volume deeply depend on your critique.
I need a moment to collect my thoughts
Remember my lines
Collect my emotions
Get into character if you will so that I can be engaging
Like an actor on a scene waiting for their big moment
To deliver that key line they have that will make the audience remember them
I would have started by now but the words fail me
The words aren’t mine
You ask me to breathe
Calm my nerves
And I do it because what you say means everything to me
I’m managed, collected, and well-assembled puppet
I start gesturing, but the gesture isn’t mine
It’s a learned choreography that I spend my whole life perfecting
So that I can get some stage time, with all the other puppets
Being like everyone else to fit in
Act, speak, move, do
Advance, grow, learn, succeed
But what is success really if you aren’t quite like all the others?
I’m trapped in a perfect masterpiece
Release me I scream
If this is the definition of success and being an interesting person
I want to be unsuccessful and uninteresting
The toxicity of it all makes me sick to my core
The wood I’m made of slightly starts to shift
I can’t keep this up. I want to be real. Unplug me.
The struggle is real
And one of the soul and mind
Cut my strings and allow me to be free
Will I ever be truly free or will I keep feeling the strings?
As fathom pain in the night as I toss and turn in bed
Trying to make sense of this paralysis and how to wake up
Then I remember that the more I struggle the harder my waking will be
So in all desperation, I decide to take a deep breath
Surrender to the situation
Hoping for a way out
As I close my eyes I make a wish
Let me wake up from this terror
When I open my eyes again I can meet you
Meet you like me in my wholeness
I will finally get to introduce myself in all my complexity, imperfection, and rawness
And I will finally get to meet you as you truly are
We will talk, share laughter, tears, and experiences from our travels
The travels that will lead us to this moment in time where we can finally meet and talk.
