Stranger to Myself

I’ve lived my life as a stranger to myself.
I woke up as me,
but what did that mean?
I went through the motions,
raised my hand when my name was called,
but when I got home,
I didn’t know who I really was.
You’re beautiful, talented, and smart – I was told;
but when I got home, I just felt alone and cold.
Cold, so I hurried into my bed
to hide from the world,
but mainly to hide from myself.
Sleep was my vice;
sleeping meant I didn’t have to think about my life.
Day after day, I hid from myself.
No happiness shone through my tired eyes.
I was miserable at best.

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