Identity Crisis

What can one ‘you’ do anyway?Let go. Let go the foolish childhood notions of being and wanting things. Accept random destiny…throw your arms wide and invite the cruel fates to their table, openly I-

fall down on that one.



K, don’t invite failure or anything. Just float. Float and flitter on waves of thought. Flirt like a curtain of water. Slip in and out of different outfits, stopping nowhere, settling at none. Soar like a short-lived bird, courting elements, never roosting;

a shape-shifter, a chameleon, a lost boy.

I mean, unless you want to know somebody better…

That could require becoming more specific.

Hm. Like a definite someone? Someone who chooses thoughts and ideals and such. A set of beliefs. And accompanying actions.


Do something, something solid and powerful.

Oh, well, I…

Don’t you have any initiative?!? Exercise control over your destiny. Take the reigns, dammit!!

I suppose…

Intention begets the blessing of the universe! Be strong! Compete! Be fierce! Be Sheera! Warrior your way forward! Move the world; crush obstacles under your mighty thumb; quell the screams of derision with one waggle of your backside. GO! Gnaw! Chew! Crunch! Run! You are a carnivore, move your ass! Devour & destroy! WTF are you looking at?

Shush, I can’t hear you, I’m making my way! I’m getting so… soo…

What?! What are you getting?!


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There are so many hats I want to wear,

I guess I need a hat shop. And a jungle to move through on full moon evenings, when the blood bites. I want ice for perspective and fire for dark nights. I want to travel, and brush palms with people I knew in other lifetimes, but I need solitude somewhere. A wooded glenn where noone can find me. I want to drive a red car, challenging passerbys with my hair blowing back in the wind, but also hold the expiring moth and delicate oyster in my protective palm.

I will be a teacher who makes the one connection, the humorist who seeds the world with their smile quirked, a quiet woman in a window making bread the old fashioned way, and the ugly, funny, jester-muse who keeps the king’s heart captured with a-wry commentary. Goddess and tramp. Shy smile adventurer. Mommy amazon.

I just want it all-

& fresh squeezed orange-juice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But maybe I most want you.

Your laugh; a perfect tangle of man to wrap my limbs around. A heart to compose my dreams to.

Maybe we’ll figure it out, you and I, on some other, vast tomorrow.

What do you say?


6 thoughts on “Identity Crisis

  1. I don’t know what to say. i don’t see this as an identity crisis, more as an identity epiphany, it doesn’t sound like searching cos i can hear a specific and wonderful mind, ie who you are, i don’t know what sort of comments to write anymore, so i will just say that being and learning are the same thing,

  2. I want to drive a red car, challenging passerbys with my hair blowing back in the wind, but also hold the expiring moth and delicate oyster in my protective palm.

    This is beautiful and I don’t know you very well but I so see you in these lines. The whole piece resonates with your energy, your wondrous take on life, that zinging creativity. Brilliant………besides isn’t crisis in Chinese also opportunity; very apt here.

  3. But this one “you” does miraculous things.
    This one “you” consistently forges beauty from words and fingertips and casts it out for the world. That’s only one small example of what this one “you” already does. That’s kind of, you know, impressive and stuff.

    And fresh-squeezed orange juice sounds great right now. Among other things.

  4. I love it when you talk to yourself. I wish my inner thoughts were half as creative.

    No reason you shouldn’t want it all. Or have it all. Time gets you there eventually, as long as you don’t give up.

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