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