Real Me

December 31, 2013
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Why is the fake me made?
Eventually the real me will start to fade.
Gone like the waves crashing on the shore,
Gone like paper that had just been torn,
Gone but unable to be mourned,
Because it would be gone . . .
Or maybe, am I both?
All of the parts of which I loathe?
Maybe they're all apart of me,
But I'm blind and just can't see.
Maybe one day the real me I'll know,
The real me which right now is my foe.
But until then I can only guess,
Until the true me really confesses . . .

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