I’ve spent half my life or more
buried under strata of someone else’s skin
uncomfortable, threadbare, tattered at the seams
discordant and alien
it’s never felt like me
though I never really fought very hard to shed it
and sometimes even found comfort in the disguise it provided
like some sort of invisibility cloak

lately though, it’s become increasingly uneasy
and while I’m growing worn out with being invisible
I’m beginning to tolerate my own imperfections
though I’m still not sure whose skin I currently find myself under
and have no idea as to how many more layers I must shed
it does seem as though moulting season has begun