It's not who I am. It's just what I pretend to do. Sometimes.
It's what I claim to enjoy. It's what you know I hate.
It's my worst nightmare. Or maybe not.
It's my entire adult life. It's my father's dream for me.
It's the crutch I lean on when I feel I'm failing everywhere else.
It's what I call myself.
It's my ticket out of here.
It's everything I want to be, but not at all what I am.