I exist and I’m afraid;
Can’t become who I am.
All my life I’ve been so late.
All my life I was a sham.
Cannot step without betraying
someone through myself within.
Needless seems all hymns & praying;
Cleansing through one future sin.
Who I am, & who I’ll be;
Who I choose is one mistake
towards every future me
— all but one left in heartbreak.
Who I am & who I’ll be?
who I become, must succeed!
Though It may never be me
or those ones I must recede.
Back within the nights of calling
of the Man I used to be.
There, stood he, wondering hauling
all those things that should be me,
Stretching deep beyond my heart,
Stretching deep beyond my mind;
Gazing at me, fearing caving,
leaving, raving,
All my heart and all myself,
& — God — all selves i leave behind.
Watching me weeping, breaking,
crying, shaking,
aching, lying,
little lifeless! Yet not dying.
Wanting not to live nor die.
That have been my mortal sin:
In demanding more than I.
Yet in seeking, I am wreaking,
Selves in me that dare not die.
But, perhaps my mortal me: “I”
does exist, & yet afraid;
Cannot become who I am.
So, can’t I but do rejoice
in ever-being self-made
Be it a wolf or a lamb,
Or a silence, or a voice.
I am nothing but the choice!
— not the outcome, not the why.
I am only here to be,
I am only here to die.
May I, then, laugh or rejoice,
one day, when I make a choice.
Then, I’ll never come to die.
One day, then, I will be I.
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