It’s me, it’s not me, it’s me. What is it?
I am angry, I am scared, I am dull, I am cautious.
I am afraid, I dwell.
Rebel to what I think is me, the truest form of me.
But it is not, it is just an illusion.
A splendid challenge of the mind
For me to cherish the truest nature of all.
The one I am not even sure I posses
But it’s there, no matter the odd feelings and the rush
of blood to my head.
It’s me it’s not me, it’s me. What is it?
How can one define? How can one see the difference?
How can one adjust to the jazz of it all.
Be still. Be still and receive the flood of calmness and joy
That comes from accepting it all.
Not as a challenge, nor as a fight, but as a battle
To where one will demise the true friend of it all
The one who we are deepest in ourselves, the one we
Collect, respect, listen to and adjust to in all its colorful self.
It’s me it’s not me, it’s me. What is it?
It is not you, it is it. The it that corrupts,
the one who scares you, who impedes you
to breath and to speak, the one who cannot be explained
the one who can only be confusing and abusing.
I want to be right. I want to fight, I want to feel constantly
perfectly bliss, no problems, no doubts, never distraught.
I want it to be without a doubt an obstacle a fault and a
draught, dismay of it all, I want it to be cool.
Intense, felt, immense, obstacle-less.
Easy, breezy, panic-less, without distress, amicable,
Passionable, but I always forget, it is not so difficult to fret
to feel in dismay, completely disarray, lost, confuse and
forever abused by the self and the mind and all I would
like would a short break.
One of a minute or so, to distract my worries and
catch my breath for once and for all in acceptance of it all.
Federicaville 