Nonexistent Self

I don't know what I want.
All I know is what I've been told.
But are my thoughts truly my own?
Does that make them mine,
Or are they something instilled?
 
How do I know who I am,
Who I want to be,
If I can't differentiate:
Them, theirs, I, mine?
I am not myself.
I do not belong to myself,
Therefore, I can not 'be myself'.
 
In this day and age,
I am expected to fit a mold,
The mold of a perfect person;
The perfect daughter.
Something I am incapable of,
And have thus failed to do so,
 
Therefore, I hide behind this persona,
This facade I have created.
One that is incomplete, unapproved,
A work in progress.
Unable to discover who I really am,
For fear of the consequences, repercussions,
Rejection, isolation, and complete alienation.
 
But why do I care?
Why do I cower beneath their gaze?
I know why.
I know at least this much:
 
Because I don't know where to begin.
I don't know where to start.
I don't know what to expect,
What to look forward to,
What will happen next, afterward, and finally,
 
Because I don't know who I am.
I don't know who I want to be.
I'm scared, unprepared, caught unaware.
I don't know what I want,
So please, I beg of you:
Don't ask me.
 
Photo Credit: Tommy Do

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