Identity Poem

And here is where I start out strong, a big statement like

“my name means wisdom and I lived life striving to attain that through the most interesting means”…

and then I start the questioning of self, in both ways meaningful and not,

present and retroactive

who am I, but what does that mean really?

if I can have anything I can pay for in an instant,

why can’t I just have a

good, solid, engaging personhood?

My money in this lifetime may never be enough to attain

enlightened, well rounded nature.

do my identities raise my price?

or diminish it?

could I be costless?

Almost like it is an obituary with an undertone of morbid certainty,

the opening big statement

striving, stifled, choking towards a finite goal.

wisdom?

it’s anyone’s guess what that really is…

These are no words to describe who I am,

an immobilized flaggelation, a pulse of ideas saddled to organs

that ache with desire and emotion to be more alive.