Me

Me

If they knew me, they would know so much

Things even I don’t quite know

Who could say what they would know about me if even I cannot tell what would be said

Honestly, everyone saying what they know about me are more correct than I ever will be

No one can say that the me which exists in others’ minds

Is any less than the me in my own

Perhaps the me that is an internet comment is the real me

Maybe the me from three years ago was the real me

And now, I am someone completely different

But also, the me in my mind might be me

But how could that be?

For the me in my mind is built up of lies

I am the smartest

I am the best

Things I tell myself to be true

And it’s broken down by them too

I am worthless

I am an annoyance

For all things come to an end

Is there a difference between my lies and yours?

Is it my details, the amount?

The experiences I claim I know

But those are just another show?

Or could it be that I believe the me that I know is the real me

Because I said it is, and that’s all this me says matters

I do not know which of these is me

But I do know what this version of me knows

That no “me” exists