The Real Me
I keep getting posts from people asking me who I am. I've finally decided to answer this question:
You don't know who I really am. Nobody does. Nobody understands me. In an attempt to be understood, I fill this substandard, interconnected void of nothingness and somethingness with thoughts and phrases, lyrical rhymes, and even gansta speak, but it doesn't fill the void that is my being.
WHO AM I?
Oh, so you care now, huh? How about all those times I was screaming inside, just hoping someone would know the real me as I really am? Where were all your inquiries then?
Must I continue on in this bleak existence, filling my life with nothingness and misunderstanding? Could you show a modicum of understanding here?
Maybe you could understand the real me if you attempted to be somewhat introspective of your own being. Maybe the question isn't "who are you?" but rather "who am I?" Inquire that of yourself and maybe you will stumble upon a most suitable answer to your neverending void of bleak, existential, meaningless dribble that is questions about who I am.
You don't know who I really am. Nobody does. Nobody understands me. In an attempt to be understood, I fill this substandard, interconnected void of nothingness and somethingness with thoughts and phrases, lyrical rhymes, and even gansta speak, but it doesn't fill the void that is my being.
WHO AM I?
Oh, so you care now, huh? How about all those times I was screaming inside, just hoping someone would know the real me as I really am? Where were all your inquiries then?
Must I continue on in this bleak existence, filling my life with nothingness and misunderstanding? Could you show a modicum of understanding here?
Maybe you could understand the real me if you attempted to be somewhat introspective of your own being. Maybe the question isn't "who are you?" but rather "who am I?" Inquire that of yourself and maybe you will stumble upon a most suitable answer to your neverending void of bleak, existential, meaningless dribble that is questions about who I am.