looking for the real me
I spend hours a day looking for the real me
contorting and distorting myself, in new directions
feeling pressure from the eyes of my ancestors
my spirit guides cheering me on, to be me, the real me
I slink around furniture, crawl up stairwells, slither into ditches
looking for the real me
my search has brought me close
I find a sliver of myself sometimes in paintings or my poetry
other times I wonder who wrote that stuff
not recognizing the pen or the paints
I refuse to stop; I shall search for me until the day I die.
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