I am unfinished.

I am not yet me.

I am not complete.

I am not who I was yesterday.

I am afraid of who I'll be tomorrow.

I am unrecognizable.

This is not my face.

There are not my hands.

These are not my words.

I am a paradox.

I do not exist.

I am hidden from myself.

I am joy.

I am pain.

I am an enigma.

How do I know who I am

when that fact changes

every day

every hour

every minute

Do I exist as a point

or as a timeline

I am who I will be in twenty years

and as the little girl who held up

three fingers when she said

the word five.

I am a mystery.

I am an open book.

I am myself.