Tap Dancer, I am.

I don't know who I am anymore. I see the girl in my reflection, but don't know her. She stares at me straight in the eyes as if she knows something that I don't. Is there something to me that I don't yet know; some secret that I have kept even from myself? This girl follows me in my shadow, she surrounds me in a dark room. I am not acquainted with her, but she somehow knows everything about me. She has the knowledge of who I am, but yet somehow I didn't get that privilege.

It seems as if she whispers to me and what she says echoes out of my mouth. I mimic her every move, her every word, her every emotion. I feel like a living, breathing marionette that does whatever is asked of it.

All in all, I am lifeless, or so it seems. The reflection in the looking glass is not me. It does not portray me the way I want to be seen. Most people don't get to know me for who I am; they know my disaster fiend, my shadow, my counterfeit half. I wish to be me, the real me . . .

Written on 02 November 2005 at 9:01 pm

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Quote of the moment:
Up where they walk. Up where they run. Up where they stay all day in the sun. Wanderin' free. Wish I could be. Part of that world