couldn’t know 

When I couldn’t know,

I looked in books and dictionaries,

tried to see myself standing diligently

in words and descriptions,

a diagram of my insides

labelled left and right.

I would listen to the others,

try, imagine my mouth forming their words,

telling their stories and singing their songs. 

Slip into their shoes; ill fitting,

fall into their clothes; slightly suffocating.

Try to make them all feel right.

Searching for answers in the stomachs of others,

bookmark myself in autobiographies. 

Try to match their shadows and reflections

side by side, never mine. 

Projections and analogies and conceptions,

never did feel like they were real life;

they never could feel like they were my life.