When you ask me who I am there's so many ways I could view it,
I'm a student, daughter, sister, teammate, musician, and a poet,
but it's the real me that you want and not the covers that I use,
It's the skin, the bones, my heart and mind, the memories that drive my muse.
I've seen things that could cause PTSD so I suppose I am a soldier,
I've survived drug addicts and angry drunks, however not a single mortar.
When you want the girl behind the curtain be mindful of your hopes,
sounds can't be unheard, neither words unread, nor memories unknown.
When you want to know the real me, asking I was wrong to do,
When I'm writing I can choose the words to show the nicest view.
I'm an honor-roll student in a vocational school who loves the field she's in,
I'm a girl who plays softball, hangs out with friends and is motivated to win.
However what happens if I were to not set up the nicest light?
What if I give you the real truth rather than my cover life?
I've seen things that I want to forget, I've heard the screams of tortured souls.
I spent years wishing and having false hope, only to seem like a fool.
I've lived with a woman who made me hate the mirror in my reflection,
I've lived with a father who shot me death glares rather than show any affection.
I've lived with a sister who's deepest hatred is invested in only me,
I've told lie after lie to the counselors at school so that my truth they couldn't see.
I'm a girl of many faces and even more moods,
I'm a girl who stays awake at night making wishes to the moon.
I'm a girl who only wishes that this curtain would just close.
Lights out, no costumes, no audience, just empty row after row.
I would tell you who I am, but I still don't know myself,
I wish I had a better hand but these are the cards I was dealt.
I still have more things to hear, some words to read, and memories to know,
So until I obtain these abstract concepts, you can look at me as Jane Doe.