I am not who you think I am.
No mind but my own can emcompass
Everything that makes up me, but
You persist in pretending that
Your mental collage of me and
Your endless string of assumptions
Is more real whan who I really am.
When I finally revealed how wrong
Most of your assumptions have always been,
You accused me of "changing,"
You accused me of "hiding,"
You mourned for the statue on a pedestal
That was supposed to be me
And which I had somehow broken
By being myself.
Tell you what:
I'll draw you a stick figure
And write my name under it,
And you can pretend that it's me
And give it whatever attributes you want
And you'll never have to worry
About the difference between me
And your image of me
Ever again.