I struggle to find who I am
or where I belong in the world.
It seems to me
that everyone else has it figured out.
But when I look around,
it seems to me
that people are living in a congruous way.
When I look around,
people go speciously about their days.
Flaunting what they do have,
what they don't have,
who they are,
and what they aren't.
Then I realize,
that nobody has it figured out.
And that those who do
had shaped themselves with glass paper,
to mold themselves into a shape that
society cuts so small.
To tear and peel the unknown off,
just to fit in,
just to belong.
But I struggle to find who I am,
or where I belong in the world.
But, by now, that's okay with me
because I'm living incongruously.