I am not my accent for they think I sound German I am not my country for they say how much they love Bratislava when I speak of Slovenia I am not my skin for it gets bruised and torn and scratched and is never the same again I am not my hair for it turned from white to brown to blue to red to blonde I am not my teeth for they got crooked and stained I am not my eyes for they change colour when the sunrays hit them at the right angle I am not my eyebrows for they lived through their 2000s glory and weren’t the same since I am not my ears for there is an ever-present buzzing left from that time I stood too close to the speakers I am not my cheeks for dimples in them seem to appear and disappear without my control I am not my words for they melt off my tongue as an incoherent mess I am not my voice for it cracks and crumbles when I have to speak up I am not my mind for it plays tricks on me when I am not careful I am not my mood for it changes constantly, like the weather in April I am not my identity for it is just a sum of random characters that I’ve met I am not my habits for they change as I hop cities I am not my art for I purge emotions with it that cease to exist after I am not me for I am complex and ever-changing I am undefined.
Kaja Rakušček is a recreational writer and a poet from Slovenia, an editor, a film enthusiast, English language and literature graduate, and above all, a cat lover. Her work has been published both online and in print.
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