Who am I?
I am not who I think I am.
I am not my thoughts, my feelings, my actions, reactions, ambitions, distractions.
I wear the clothes of hopes and dreams, failure and loss, projection, rejection, fear and dejection.
My outward imagine is not who I am, it’s who I want you to see, and my internal reality makes me want to flee and hide and bury what I do and i see, with possessions and wealth, with more than I need of food and the drug of activity.
But who I am when the image has gone?
Who am I without these clothes and my hair?
Who am I really?
What lays beneath?
Tell me What’s real?
Who’s there underneath.
