Who am I to me?

I am searching, I am trying to find
I am hunting for life’s hidden signs
I am heaving myself between slopes
I am snagging, I am snapping my ropes

So who am I to feel stifled inside my snug all-weather purpose?
And who am I, once a cloud’s rolled by, to forget I ever noticed?
Who am I to me?

I am sparseness, I am one of those weeks
I am no-one, I am only fatigue
I mirror what my mirror echoes
I smear much more easily, though

So who am I to while away my time with faithful self-dissection?
And who am I if now all I find is a stranger in my reflection?
Who am I to me?

I am ugly, I am what I do loathe
I am vile still so I surrender all hope
I’m a critter of monstrous fame
I have tried hard but can’t shake this shame

So who am I to now shout out loud, “FUCK IT! I CANNOT BEAT IT!”?
And who am I to have never tried to find with me a friendship?
Who am I to me?

I am humour, I am much to perceive
I am worldly, I am charming naïve
I am caring, I’m as sweet as cologne
I am human, I am flesh-covered bone

So who am I if I decide that I can still smell that old rat?
And who am I if my weary sigh mumbles the mirrors “Ah, but…”?
Who am I to me?

I am mere scaffold if I’m not my own friend
I am ablaze if I’m not my defence
I am worth much in this currency, Me
I am my own absolute guarantee

 

Tomos James