you don't know me

you don't know
me. not really.
what you see is
just a glimpse,
a mere facade of
smoke and mirrors,
me pretending to
be someone i think
i should be. these
are not even my
clothes, or shoes,
or hat. these gloves
barely fit. i
am wearing another
man's watch. at
night i sleep with
another man's wife
and take his child
to school. i walk
his dog. i am
not who you think
i am. the money
that's in my pocket
belongs to someone
else. my desires
are not mine, but
ones that i have
learned through
reading and
observation. i
have stolen all
of my beliefs from
others while on
the train listening
to men cry and
confess to priests
about their sins
and wasted lives.
i am growing old
in someone else's
body and will
be buried under
another name. you
don't know me,
not really.