Who am I- a wolf or a chicken.
The hunt reflects through the mind of a wolf.
No pity, no gentleness remains.
Just the hunt is what could be mine.

This facade hides who i am.
Through all these other guises.
Wanting to be the me i do not yet know.
I stare at the unknown soul i have created.
Yearning, "Who am I?"
I have shattered like the frailest glass.
Who am I? Who am I? Unexpectedly-why?
A being from inside tries to escape.
I hold onto it as much as possible.

Buds try to hard to be roses.
And in trying this hard
, they please their gardeners.
but never try for themselves.

But what about ME?...
What is this day?
I sow empathy but reap apathy.
Day ends with confusion
Became a chicken, ground soaks up my seedless thoughts.

Between Booth Street fights,
as if boisterous again.
Happy and confused i stand.
A LADY,
A FRIEND,
A FAILURE.

Who am I? Who am I? My exploration continues.
Myths and pictures, but i am nowhere to be found.
I run, as if from a tornado of thought.
From pain, scorching my gasping lungs.

I wonder with you Cynthia Lynn...
For within this maelstrom of malice
I too am a being,
striving for enlightenment.