You are not who you think you are. They will tell you it to your face, they will say it with such courage and bravery and confidence that it is so correct, that it is an irrefutable fact of life. You are not who you think you are.
You are not who you think you are. They will tell you no, you don’t actually like that. No, you don’t actually dislike that. No, you are not that type of person. No, you are not actually a boy, you are still a girl. No, you are not actually a girl, you are still a boy. No, you are not neither, you are one or the other. You are not who you think you are.
You are not who you think you are. They will tell you no, you don’t actually want that. No, you don’t actually not want that. No, you don’t know what you want. No, you can’t choose for yourself. Aren’t you too confused? Aren’t you too weak? Aren’t you unprotected?
You are not who you think you are. You will tell yourself that to your face in the mirror, with such courage and confidence and bravery that it is so correct, that it is an irrefutable fact of life. No, you don’t actually like that. No, you don’t actually dislike that. No, you are not a boy, you are not a girl, you are not neither or both or in-between. No, you don’t want that. No, you don’t not want that. No, you can’t choose for yourself. No, you are not yourself. What are you? What are you? If not yourself, then what?
You are not who you think you are. Those words will surround you, cover your eyes in a haze that’s soft as wool yet crushes you like a hydraulic press. Those words will slither down and wrap themselves around your body, clinging tight to your limbs, digging right into your skin, and you will sit there and accept it, because you don’t know any better. You are not who you think you are, and you do not know who you are, and both facts exist at once in a way that hurts and hurts and hurts and traps you in an eternal prison, a cage in your own mind, a cell around your heart.
And the bindings will only stay on until you go back and reflect on everything everyone has said. Have they lived your life? Do they pioneer your body? Do they wake up every day with your eyes and your skin and your flesh and your breath? Do they wake up with your thoughts and your feelings and your brain? Do they? Do they?
And, you’ll say, the answer is no, of course they don’t. Because you do that. You have lived your life, you have walked in your skin, your shoes, and nobody else has. That’s where the problem is, isn’t it? The fallacy. And as you realize that, the bindings will become slightly looser, knowing that the truth is found, knowing that you’re finally aware. How does a human describe life as a rose when they’ve never been one? How does a wolf describe life as a lamb when it’s never seen such a thing? How does one describe someone else when they are simply not that person?
And that’s it. There it is. The knife to cut the bindings, the fan to bat away the haze from your eyes, the purifier for the air entering your lungs. The words you need to change, the phrase you need to find.
You are not who they think you are.
Axen (he/xe) is a writer, artist, and currently a high school sophomore. He writes science fiction and dystopia, though dabbles in poetry on the side.