Who am I,
If who I am
Is not who I am supposed to be?
If the dreams
That I have spent an abundance of nights
Trying to fabricate
Aren't the dreams I can acquire?
I ponder upon these thoughts
On many occasions
In many different places.
Mainly, when the night
Becomes a cold dark place
Where I can see my daydreams bleed
Into the cool wind
And twist into clear fantasies
That I conclude are plausible
For someone like myself.
When I can view moving pictures
Of myself in another future life.
Where my dreams escape to become reality
For only a few minor moments.
It is in these moments
When I see myself
Standing on a grand stage
Spilling out a multitude of words
That flow like water
Into the ears of an audience.
but these moments soon end
Too vastly for me to understand
Why I dream of dreams
That are farther than the stars
That form the beginning of my dream like state,
Because to be there would mean that
I am who I am
And not who I am supposed to be.
-A.a
