Who I Am

by Spencer Dillenbeck, at age 19: A chunk of clay settling into its mold A painting yet to dry A matching hand I cannot hold A block of cheese before its mold But even I do not know why The answer is unknown to me A rock on the cliff I cannot reach A phantom I can't see I am ABOMINATION An amalgamation of the things that have shaped me But nothing really seems to... fit? work? stay together? feel... right? It all feels so... messy. needless. uncomfortable. unwanted. The clay has yet to finish molding But the mold refuses to hold A painting yet to dry A matching hand I cannot hold A block of cheese before its mold But even I do not know why The answer is unknown to me A rock on the cliff I cannot reach A phantom I can't see I am DEFINITION A story written by hands that feel foreign They're mine, these hands Surely The story is mine Surely It's all... nonfiction Surely But the ink's invisible to me The pictures don't match the words Because they aren't there But when I watch others take my hands and paint what I can't see It all feels right and natural It all makes sense to me A matching hand I cannot hold A block of cheese before its mold But even I do not know why The answer is unknown to me A rock on the cliff I cannot reach A phantom I can't see I am DISTRUSTFUL But perhaps I should explain I trust those I care for those I love And I feel obligated to They've given oh so much to me It's the least I can do But once they put the mirror up And look into my eyes I am the only one who cries I am the only one who sees my LIES I can't let myself stay this way Too many things I want to change But it all feels so strange I can't take this hand I can't take this chance So many ways to alter my stance But I feel locked into this trance In which I glance into the abyss And the abyss glances back I have to look away I can't look at this I can't look like this I can't act like this I can't be this A block of cheese before its mold But even I do not know why The answer is unknown to me A rock on the cliff I cannot reach A phantom I can't see I am UNREMARKABLE I don't see what people see in me I'm not special or talented or smart or cool or trendy or fashionable I'm not that finely aged jazz you see on the top shelf That's the good stuff That's what people think is best Nobody touches it because they don't want it to go away They want it to stay But I'm left deformed and in pieces Not because people keep eating me If that were it, there'd be more me to go around But, really I don't want me I just give myself away Piece by piece Bit by bit Until nothing's left That's what I think is best But even I do not know why The answer is unknown to me A rock on the cliff I cannot reach A phantom I can't see I am I am... I am who I am? There's too much I hate So much to change Not enough to evaluate Nothing to see Not even my glasses give me the sight I need My eyes just aren't able to focus But everyone else has great eyes Eyes I can use to see me If I let them like me change me evaluate me see me Then I can understand They can tell me Who I am Now With all of this in mind, I'm sure That you can see That you can tell me What I need to hear Make it nice and clear I've waited more than long enough for this point in time This fortune of mine Look into my eyes and show me the truth Tell me what you see in me Be my special little sleuth The only one who can deduce This mystery of my history is YOU Who am I?