Identity

So many know my name and yet so few
Know me; I'm more and less than what I seem
To be, called friend by many people who
Know me as I know night by chance moonbeam.
Chameleon-like I change my psychic skin
Depending whom I'm with and what the day,
Unending fitting, never fitting in,
Amending how I look and what I say.
Unclothed and mute, inside myself I know
My soul complete, its multiplicity
A whole; but outside actorlike I show
The role I choose, or you assign to me.
And as no one can know my entity,
I know no one, but only simile.