I am a shapeshifter of sorts.
I can be whoever you want me to be.

I can be lovely and kind,
or I can be honest and raw.

Trust me—
I can be anything at all.

Just tell me who you want me to be,
and I will be her.

I can be the person you need most,
or your biggest fan.
I can tell you
you don’t need a man,
or a five-year plan.

I can tell you what you need to hear
and be who you want me to be.

But the problem is—
I am no longer me.

I don’t even know who me is anymore.

She is hiding
somewhere in all of these personalities
I have created—

waiting to be shared,
waiting to be loved,
waiting to be enough
for someone,
someday—

waiting to be okay