My accent changes for everyone I meet,

Like a chameleon of personalities standing on two feet,

Am i unique or just a mix of expectations and choices made to please,

Did I buy that because I want it or because my friends said it was neat,

Am I pretending to be something more than I am,

Like those ads for things that turn out to be a scam,

If they could read my twisted mind,

Even If I was them I’d run a mile,

Am I a fake?

Like those holiday watches ; fated to break?

If this was a diagnosable state

They’d probably lock me away for my own sake