"I am..." but the words stop there
I never can be sure of the answer
looking myself in the mirror
The simple act of declaring myself
empty and hollow, everything I try wrong
Why must the question, "Who are you?"
be so hard to answer when even
the names I choose
feel wrong

The ritual question, the first of every encounter
The moment chose the reply, as was the plan
One name for those I felt alien
One to those I felt kin
Yet why must it feel wrong
Why must it feel right
At once
Had it only been known
The question was wrong