In the quiet dawn, I awaken, blurred,
uncertain of the voice I’ve heard.
Some days the mirror holds a stranger’s gaze,
in the fog of self, I wander through a maze.
Which name to claim when the morning calls?
Which history to hold as the nightfall stalls?
I dress in the silence of not knowing,
garments that conceal the truth that’s owing.
Pronouns like garments, loose or tight,
none quite wrong, yet none exactly right.
In the reflection, I search for a sign,
a whisper of identity, uniquely mine.
I’m floating between the echoes of who I might be,
in the stillness, waiting for the soul to see.
Mirrors and mists, guide my way,
through the shifting lands where I stray.
Tell me, reflection, which face is true?
In your depths, help me view.
Each day a journey through shadow and light,
finding comfort in neither black nor white.
The spectrum of being, vast and unknown,
in this body, what truth is shown?
So here I stand, quiet, awaiting command,
from the depths of a mirror, in a no-man’s land.
Each morning’s question, a silent plea,
“Who am I today? Which me will I be?”