Who Am I? - A Poem

Today, I'm writing an original poem. Or, let me put it another way--this is a poem that I've written, found in an ancient Google Doc, "blown the dust off of it," polished up some, and presented here. I think that this poem could be better, so your feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated. Thank you. 

Who am I?

I do not recognize myself

I am a stranger to myself

On the street, 

Everywhere

My life

But now

Now I am nobody

To me

When I look into the mirror, 

I see nothing;

Anything, everything but myself

Who am I?

I do not see myself

I am blind to myself;

I do not recognize myself

Even if I am myself

I am a stranger to myself

On the street, 

Everywhere

No matter if you see me, I don't see me

As me

I see myself

And think

That I am a stranger

Was,

Am,

Always will be

Past, present, future, all into one - my life.

No matter how much

Others see,

I see nothing.

Myself is not a thing

Anymore. 

It used to be— 

But not anymore. 

Now… 

I am a 

Stranger to myself on the street. 

Why? 

I do not know.

I will not know. 

No.

Why?

Why? is a question

That needs so many answers

Why am I a stranger to myself?

Who can say? 

Nobody 

Can 

Say

Or can they?

Only I

Can be sure

At all times;

Always

But Me, Myself, and I is not there

I am not there

I am still a stranger

To myself

But others 

See me

For who I am

Am I invisible?

Or am I 

Just 

A stranger?

To myself

To others

To everyone

Who brushed the land

With their feet

Graced the land

With Themselves

And more

But I am no more

Than a no-one

A no-one 

Can be a someone

Or at least that’s what I've been told

By the people with rich and strong voices

Sweet and soothing

But hard to believe

I see the way others can see me

But I cannot

I cannot

See me

Because I am 

A stranger

To myself

Others see me,

But I do not know how

It's incredible

How 

I can be

Seen

And at the same time

Still not seen

Who decides, though?

If I’m seen

Or not seen? 

Who has the authority over the fabric of...

Me?

I decide

Or at least that’s what I’m told

By the people with rich and strong voices

Sweet and soothing 

But hard to believe

Maybe I am

A spark

Made

To light the fire 

The fire that 

Lets me

Recognize Me, Myself, and I

A spark

Made

To light the fire

The fire that

Ignites the world and sets the world aflame

While I walk down the street 

I am not a stranger 

Any more than I was

And yet...

-Originally written February 20, 2018

Rewritten for blog on Jun 18, 2019

All written by Isis/M. Rigby Barington

An Introduction

Hey! Welcome to the first-ever blog post on Randimistic. Randimistic is the art of unrelated, 
disorganized, random clutter. In other words, the unplanned, disorganized thing that is my life, which is kind of funny if you think about it. And although randimistic is a term I invented, I think it's a real thing that hasn't yet been given a name. So basically this blog in addition to all of my other websites is just that--a blog. Nothing more, nothing else, and my first time using something like Blogger. In the past, my go-tos have been Weebly, Wix, and others. But here, I'm using Blogger for the first time, and so far, though the experience has been short, I'm enjoying using Blogger. Let's not jump to conclusions, though. Who knows? Just because you think something at one point doesn't turn it into a fixed thing that you know for sure. See? You could describe that sentence as randimistic. So I'm really looking forward to my time here on Blogger, where I'll post things ranging from my thoughts on particular topics, posts about my interests, such as coding, writing, or Egyptian mythology, some of my original writings, some of my songs that I write from time to time. It depends. We'll see. But for now, Isis out.