Dear true self

I feel as though these roots burden my steps, and yet I hold it against you that I cling to the ground.

As if you are to blame for gravity or safety.

Nobody told me how to feel, so I lie awake wondering if this is real.

How the sky is blue or the ocean is deep, or how my heart beats for you.

In that moment, you were not to blame.

You never asked to become my moon and stars.

Yet here I lie, wishing you could read my thoughts

or wanting the world to be what it is not.

I lied to you.

I lied to myself.

But worst of all,

my lie is rooted so deep I don't know what's real.

Maybe I will wake up, and this will all be a dream.

I am afraid.

Because I love this nightmare too much to believe it isn't real.

For every bit of truth I found to be meaningless

and every strength I had to be powerless.

All this time I've spent

willing the ocean to be solid and still

has only left me tired and cold.

The most important piece of myself isn't real

and I'm terrified of that truth.

Because it means I've spent my life being someone I'm not,

and here I am at the beginning of possibility with no direction.