Who am I?
Since flying across the ocean I seem to have lost half of myself.
Or maybe that half was always lost, and it's only in these unfamiliar places that I notice.
That I've spent so many years catering to the opinions of others
Willing myself to act a certain way
Look a certain way,
Be a certain way,
that when stripped of the familiar world of acceptance I've constructed
I teeter on the brink of who I've tried to be,
who I have failed to be,
and who this red dirt land could make me.
If I let it,
I could be the girl I've always tried not to be.
The girl I'm afraid to be.
The girl I'm afraid is my only true self.
Maybe it's not this red dirt land
But my own vulnerability
to the whims and waves of
But if I don't let it mold me,
who am I?
A girl who is always in,
insofar as there's nods to be gained.
A girl who is always out,
just enough to retain some authenticity;
my reflection mirrored in eyes that smile?
Just where is that kernel of myself,
buried so deeply,
machination of all my mask-making)
that is truly me?
Does it even exist?
Or are we all just constantly,
molding and sculpting ourselves
for that which gives us intimacy
Maybe this red dirt land will tell me.