Who am I?
Over and over again
A mantra in its own right
With no right to be.
Who am I?
Not the teenaged questioning;
The great self-examination
Buzzing with the fascination
Of Ego-centricity.
Instead: genuine bafflement—
It’s all wrong; I don’t fit.
Who the hell am I?
My perception of reality is dented.
Who am I?
What am I doing here?
Is the ‘me’ who exists in others’ eyes
Anything like the me I see?
I’ve said something stupid again
(I’m not stupid)
I’ve done something thoughtless again
(Compassion dying)
I’ve tripped and I’ve fallen again
(Am I clumsy?)
I’ve forgotten my next task again
(What’s wrong with my mind?)
My best traits are intelligence (failing)
Wit (vanished), kindness (withered)
Determination (fleeting) and (no) social grace—
Does any of it show?
The things I say and the things I do
Seem to have nothing to do with
Who I am.
And yet, in that case—
Who am I?