itch.

I never could decide on an identity
there were too many options other than me
pick a favorite
then feel insecure
cast it aside
always unsure
my eyes begging a question
"which do you prefer?"

an ever-present itch
a boundless insecurity
gnawing away at my identity
at the tail end of every statement I made
in the back of my mind
any expression
communicates apprehension

so how could I blame you for losing sight of me
mirroring your every action
anticipating your perceptions
I got lost in the reflection
a shrug of your shoulders
there was nothing left to see