You Think You Know Me Poem by Dan Brown

You think you know me;
you think I’m your son.
You will never truly know me;
and you never truly have done.

I am none of the things you call me,
I’m everything you say I’m not.
But I don’t expect you to know that,
for I am the one that you forgot.

What you see is what I show you,
what you know is what I tell you.
And that’s as far as you’ll ever get,
because I’ll never, ever trust you.

I’m prepared, however, to leave you ignorant.
For, whenever I make an admission,
you spin me round, grab the knife,
and use it as ammunition.

I have an inside that you’ll never see,
it holds my opinions, hopes, and fears.
I have an inside that aches to be free,
and grieves with silent tears.

You will wish you knew me,
on one sorrowful day.
Were I to die tomorrow,
at my funeral, which song would you play?

You think you know me.
You thought you did.
But I am just a stranger
lying beneath that lid.