Subliminal girl• Show poetry

I explore the blank pages that are my mind. Can paint them with colors to fit my moods, scribble on my thought patterns and observe my inner monologues which form a complex building that I decided to call Me. I play my roles and call it a social life. Roles are created yet me, myself and I are supposed to be the same.
Where do my own thoughts start and which part of my mindset is just derived from yours or theirs, his or hers..?
Who am I if not just another puppet to play a role which I have involuntarily learnt to fit yet despise..? Did we become who we are because it is what reflects our true essence, or were we forced to grow into a coat made of expectations and promised acceptance? Is it sewn on our true selves to cover them for us to never find out who we could have been? Or are we free to take them off yet are afraid to do so because we might have never noticed that there is something underneath?
However we all do wear some sort of coat... if only to protect ourselves. Or play some kind of role... Walk our paths in our own shoes and leave marks... on other's souls just like they leave marks on ours... or in our own little history. We are given those shoes and at times do not even know where they are taking us... Only that the walk won't be endless. In some regard, we are all the same.
Don't you ever judge me unless you've walked in my shoes. See how they pinch. Just like yours.
See how they are broken yet to endure.
Some say there probably is no fate, only coincidence...
What about love – possibly the only thought-to-be wonder left in today's disenchanted world... is it only ever just chemistry? Nothing more than instinctive needs..?
Or searching for salvation? The need for something more, something deeper in a hollow world where wonder is sold and souls are traded, where self denial is quite common, where excesses serve distraction when this mayhem makes you numb ... ?
Are we searching for some sort of connection, a sense of reliance in a world that seems unpredictable, or in regard of the fact that we are all miserably alone deep inside? If so, could we find it....?
Is it a need for completeness while in the end our coat might only be made for one person – ourselves – and not to share? Or are we simply mostly too scared to show the vulnerable being underneath that coat..?
Is love (or what we call love) unconditional or do we only like to think so whilst parts of us of whose existance we aren't even aware arrive at a decision, pass judgement before we can even know it?
You may see no point in asking those questions, yet I see no point in holding them back...
We won't ever find out anyways... we can only discuss...