Who am I?
Well,
every day it changes.
Some days it feels like fifty times a second
I am slightly different than
I had been just a half a second before.
I race to change my face when you see me.
If the phone rings
I play
the memories
of
a thousand calls I couldn’t ignore.
Will it be like that time Daddy died,
or grandma,
or when they said the baby won’t make it?
Will it be,
the
Bank
A
Job
A
Win
A
Loss?
I am always paranoid when the phone rings.
My face is steel.
 
 
I used to anticipate the many good things it could be.
Before I learned that life is
often
Mostly disappointing.
 
Who am I?
Well,
that changes when you knock on my door.
Are you good, bad, or ugly?
I watch too many of those shows
That
Show things
That
You hope
would never happen to you.
Is it the serial killer that I have been waiting on since 02?
When I lived in a space
in Hollywood,
Where the women would,
Disappear for days
in a place
where nobody could even remember their face?
 
Who am I?
I never know who I am until I answer.
But since that day that I refuse to remember
Seared its significance
Upon my innocence
I always make sure the I who answers is the me who I need to be.

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