Who am I?
Beneath the smiles and the small talk, the bracelets, the jokes, the “I want pink hair”, the emotions
Beneath the layers and layers I so carefully laid,
Beneath the fears?
Am I the woman, the photographer, the child,
The happy or the sad?
Am I even supposed to know myself?
And if I did, would I be proud or dissappointed?
Which is the deepest layer? Which one I layed first? Some of them I know, they are the ones that help me not go insane when I saw my world collapsing around me…the ones that kept me smiling when i should have cried.
If I started tearing them off, one by one, the one standing bare would still be me? Or would she be a stranger I carefully hid under layers and layers that became me?
