Who am I?

Who am I?

Isn’t this who I’ve always been?

Why can’t I remember?

When did you creep in?

Why did I let you?

Was it to mask the awkwardness of adolescence?

That’s when you first appeared.

Did I use you to quiet my anguish?

You snuck in, acting like a friend,

telling me they don’t understand me like you do.

They don’t understand me.

It’s true.

But you tried to change me too.

They couldn’t, but you could.

You tricked me.

I hate you!

Do I hate you enough?

Is it too much to be healthy?

Where is the balance?

Why do I ask so many questions?

Will I ever know the answers?

You took what you wanted from me

and you left me with nothing.

You shaped me to suit you

and, when I wanted out, you left me hurting. 

I was awkward and silly, wild and smart.

An outlier, but now I’m just a liar.

You never truly loved me.

Few ever have.

I can no longer tolerate your version of love.

It’s time for me to love myself

and answer the question:

Who am I?

— Jesse Lee 11/08/2025