“Who am I?” is the question

Its terrifying and confusing

Its puzzling as if you should know

Its scary because of the uncertainty

Its bright and dark all at the same time

Myself is a mystery

A changing swirl

of faith and doubt

of joy and despair

of satisfaction and longing

Without a carefully filtered lie

I wouldn’t be a clone

I wouldn’t be predictable

I’d be free as  a wild mare

I wouldn’t be watching from the shelf

Without a carefully filtered lie

I wouldn’t be unknown

I wouldn’t be mistakable

I’d be simple and fair

I wouldn’t feel like an elf

Filtering is a barrier

It protects me from my fears

It protects me from the unknown

It keeps me from the wonder

It keeps me from being vulnerable

Who am I?

I am cocooned in love yet alone

I am unpredictable but sustainable

I am clothed yet I feel bare

I am tired even in self

Who am I?

I am dust yet carved of stone

I am spirit but containable

I am here yet I am elsewhere

I am elusive even to myself