Identity
Who are you?
The blue jeans stolen last Sunday, from your brother’s girlfriend
Who slept over and left her clothes for your taking?
This is how you piece yourself together, taking parts of other wholes
Seaming them into you, into your life, into who you are
Your identity is fragile, made up of the things around you
Bracelets left on the subway, unwanted socks in your friends’ drawers?
They are still them without these, you think to yourself
But you are not

You buy your glasses at the same place your older cousin does
And your haircut is the same as your sister’s from 2 years ago
Your identity is fickle, and ever-changing
And truth? you don’t understand why
These clothes bring you comfort.
You don’t understand who you are,
You don’t understand why it gives you a sense of place every time,
To find something new to add to yourself

You are percents of everything
90% your peers’ perception of you
Why not? The opinions of others defines you, you think
And you tell yourself that you don’t care,
Don’t care what others think of you
You still say this
(And you still care)
You wear your brother’s hoodies everyday
Hand-me-downs and thrift store exclusives
Still stealing, still feeling like all these people you’ve taken from
squeezed into a tiny body
It’s impossible to answer the easiest question.

Who am I?