i don’t know

i don’t know. i don’t know who i am, or what i like, or how i feel. don’t ask me because i don’t have an answer for you. i will only respond with what i think you want to hear, what will make you like me. are we only friends through the false sense of self i let you believe i am? i’ll smile but not because i’m happy, and i’ll cry but not because i’m sad. do you think i’m cool yet? am i interesting enough? i’ll keep acting like the person you love, the person who makes you laugh, the person you tell your dreams to.
i make a mockery of myself, behaving like an idiot, like a jester performing for a queens approval. permission to live. i need permission to live.
i go to bed early because i fear i will act differently when i’m tired, maybe i’ll annoy you. maybe you won’t like me anymore.
i spend my pocket money on rock posters of bands i know nothing about so you’ll want stay over. but of course i rip them down days later because “i changed my mind”.
i’ve never been the decisive type. i mean as i sit here typing into my notes app, trying to romanticise my dull personality, i wonder if that’s all this is… am i just some indecisive teenage girl who wants to be sicker than she is? is this all for attention?
i don’t want your attention, i don’t think i do.
of course i don’t know!
am i pleading for their approval or my own?