Most days my skin smells like sadnessPigmentation--melancholyFeels like it was hidden in my bonesDraw blood--I'm certain it's blue Keep trying to level upBut I've got lead in my shoesIt's tiring trying to show and proveI wear a distressed smileCan you see my holes?Am i bleached enough when I'm shifting?Just to enter into the worldKnees ripped from begging myself not to lose my self respectBecause people who don't see you still won't have respect Call me an impostorI'm just trying to make bailFrom this jail cell of depression I'm underestimated and under paidGot high expectations of meBut that's only when they decide to see my faceMost days I'm an after thoughtI almost forget to remember myselfI'm still compromising my mental-emotional health Who am I ?...who am i?I stare in the mirror to pick out similaritiesfamiliarities...the scarcity of the rarities are scary to me I wish identity was a drinkI'd put it in a mason jar by my bedSip it when my tires lose their treadSip it when I can't figure out who the hell i amSip it when everything and everyonekeeps trying to take a piece of meSo I can drink myself whole again It's difficult to gauge my personalityWhen all the psychotropic drugs i'm not sure i neededchanged the make-up of my brain and only managed to starve my demonsFeels like their feigningLooking for some fresh meat they target my sensitivityand start feasting on the open wounds in my heart I'm just wishing this route to whatever my purpose is wasn't so darki remember being called a poser, crazy, more white than black Now black girls got magicBut that shit still ain't enough.  Cierra Marshall Robinson|@cierrarobinson_thepoet