Sometimes almost always I don’t really know myself, even in the stories
the many sequences of choices that I’ve carried with me
They
sound like I’m reiterating another narrative I heard from someone who heard it from someone else
Who I am seems to fluctuate based on the crowd’s assumptions
they’ve already figured me out, or so they thought,
Or so I thought
wrong
To acknowledge
this chip stretches as if elastic, rebounding when bouncing
always between the blades of my unyielding shoulders