Me (A Poem)

Who am I?

I ask this question sometimes, but not as often as I should.

It’s healthy, I think, to ponder existence

As if it were a fig tree

Or a melody

Or flames

If there is a definitive answer to “Who am I?” then does that make me stale, outdated, a lie?

To personify

Is to stand by

While others define you for you.

—

Am I the creation of two parents?

One afraid to let go,

One afraid to be alone,

Both afraid of seeing who they really are

(Which is beautiful)

—

Or am I manufactured by my hometown?

That podunk cliche hamlet with a four-digit population

Where your name proceeds you

Before you’ve even built a reputation.

—

Or perhaps I can be qualified by my many characteristics —

White/male/straight/brown hair/brown eyes/6-foot but most likely 5–11 and 3/4s.

Maybe it’s my laundry list of beliefs and values —

The faith that there’s more than meets the senses, that to divide keeps us in past tenses.

—

Am I Bend, Oregon?

Am I husband to my wife?

Owner of my dog?

Writer of this poem?

—

What is “I,” anyway?

I’m drawing a blank, I cannot say.

It’s difficult for someone to articulate their oneness

You get too far in the weeds, it becomes a mess

It’s a question without an answer, I must confess

Best to just let it go and give it bless.

—

Who am I?

Nobody knows.

But that’s more than okay

To only suppose,

Because change can then happen

That’s how the legend grows

And at the end of it all

I can attest that I chose:

—

I am me,

The only one I can be.

—

More energy than matter

I don’t want to define myself

An experience of living

Want another poem? Here’s a quick one.

I heal, I coach, I write poetry. Want to be well and unlock your Self? Let’s create some conscious magic together!