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.)