Not Mine by Emma Rodriguez

When speaking, I'm not speaking 

When thinking, I'm not thinking 

It’s all a dream


My mouth moves and words spill out,

as a faucet someone forgot to shutoff 

I watch as your eyes gloss over

and drift onto another face

more desired than mine


More prettier than mine.

More whittier than mine.

More funnier than mine.


What’s mine anymore?

This hair I hide behind is mine,

these hard eyes are mine


But these words are not mine

Nor is this smile

This smile.

When’s the last time I really smiled?


I don’t own these agreeable thoughts 

Or these uncomfortable laughs


They’re not mine.


I can’t be remembered for these tight clothes 

or sweaty palms


I’ve learned to be farthest from myself 

to succumb to your thoughts and your humor


As I mindlessly babble on,

It feels as though I’m inside skin too big 

Inside my head 

floating between the conscious and the subconscious


I watch myself moving my lips, speaking foreign nothingness

What am I saying?


Speaking into the oblivion of yet another vacant vessel

Words slowing down, becoming less audible 

I scream at myself to stop…


I echo in my empty skin,

I’m too far to reach, 

too far to listen 



I finally stop and realize no one 

was listening in the first place.


This feeling of discontent all too familiar


I cheated myself again

Sold myself for another me

A lesser of myself


Ignoring my truth, unvalidated yet by you


Who is this imposter,

this imposer,

this brainwashed, 

mind numbed, 

“do-you-like-me” hoper? 


Trying too hard to be 

the right type of different,

on the lesser side of evil, 

and the better side of wrong


I’m never enough,

because I’m saying your ideas 

not mine.


As I scramble for 

A breath of courage 

A taste of freedom from conformity

A notion of self acceptance

I come into my sight,

seeing your just as lost as I am.


And your intimidation floats away,

your voices quiet down,

and your piercing eyes get softer