Do I doubt myself?

Can I be a better person?

Can I find out how from my book shelf?

Am I, what you call an “unperson”?

Am I always trying to get ‘stuff done’?

Or, like the Greek sea god, I keep changing form?

Can’t I live a life of fun?

Or, must I always seek the norm?

Proteus, speak to me or I will ring your neck.

I can’t suffer fools and I hate disrespect.

Give me liberty up on deck,

Make my ship sail in a parsec.

I feel “do”, I feel “be”, where is me?

I act like I feel, but I don’t feel real.

My feelings are conflicted over who and what to do.

Should I go to the arctic or be full of pain or go insane?

I’ll skip the cold, I don’t need to numb out.

I’ll feel the pain to stay sane.

(This is the poet in me.)