Exactly

What might I be If I know not who I am? If I am who I think I am, I am not who I believe Myself to be, therefore Not knowing who I am, What might I be? Reread and perhaps There is comprehension, But even the conclusion Is submerged in murky Water, anchored by The burdens, problems Of my past. Well. Release the anchor And be free of the Addictions, afflictions. Indeed, nothing truer can Be spoken, but speech Is notoriously easier Than the action. I Beg for help, I break the Rules of poetic flow With enjambments and Non-rhyming words to Be noticed by a person Of sorts, perhaps, so I can be made known What I might be. I have Given up on the metaphors Of what my current State is. This is a plea That someone beyond The fourth wall will Will see there is a fifth And sixth wall, for the Ceiling and the floor, Two polarized afterlives, Separated by the Incorrigible hatred of Magnetism—a bridging Point is needed, that I May discover someone Across the fourth wall, In the ceiling, for I am Below the floor, yet I Still live. I beg for help. I want to know who I am, And what I am supposed To be. Whether I may be Permitted to love, or to Find love; whether I may Be wrong in everything— Should I be, I am sorry To all and wish to make Amends. So I ask once More, what might I be If I know not who I am? What might poetry be, If it is not written as such? Pardon me. But notice The humbleness over my Pride and take heed. I am a man who does not Know what I am to know.