You…

I’m not you.

The vast, intimidating, formidable you.

The you that holds on to the difference in the cadence of our breaths

That plays the beat of your drum so loudly it takes up all sound

The you that sits alone to watch the sun creep by

I am not you.

I have my own eyes

My own lungs

My own songs to sing

And oh, it is so lovely to let them live!

More lovely by far than shaving down my person to cram into your idea.

The box you’ve neatly labeled “safe keeping”

There is no safety in forgery, no peace in pretending, no solace in wearing a self that I don’t fit.

I am not you.

And that is good.