I am so many me's
Sometimes I can't tell them apart
And sometimes I don't know which me to be.
Are they passing moods or is each one a part of me
That I can't fully become
Nor throw away, no matter how hard I try?
Take right now:
I'm poetic. I'm deep. I would theorize and philosophize on the meaning of life
And my inner me would long to take up the paintbrush of the Soul
And brush it across a page
To make your own Soul leap
But the clumsy other me's drag me down and back to Earth
Where people don't care
Or don't have time
Just like I don't have time.
So my inner me wishes to have time and to not have to work and to just paint with Soul all day
But it knows it can't
And someone would get hurt along the way if it did
And besides, there are other me's who would come out into the silence of Soul
And feel lost, because they know they wouldn't belong
So all of me stays right here for the other me's
And a me tries to paint Soul by itself
Even though its life is too short to last.
A new me comes out
And this me is cruder and harder than the soft, special me of Soul
It has a body that it works and uses
And laughs at things too thoughtful
But for some reason I love this me just as much
And other people do, too, because their me is just as calloused as mine
And I wish that they could see that there are other me's in me than this me.
This me is confused at this and wonders silly things that are not Soul
And feels awkward in the dark of the inside me.
Much better is the light of other's me's
And the me gets lonely and abandons the Soul
For a new kind of Soul called Friends
And the inner me is confused
But rides along.
And I shall see
If this me
There are so many other me's
That I know I will have Soul
No matter which me I am.
But I want to be my inner me
As I suppose Everyone does
And I am trying to find it.