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Me, Myself, and I

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What is a name?
A sound,
A simple syllable.
Though I may answer to it,
It's not who I am.

Some people say
Knowing the name
Of a person
Gives you power
Over them.

That is not so
Because
My name
Is not
Who I am.

Who am I?
You ask:
That
Is something
I cannot tell.

Today I'm
Dark and dismal,
Tomorrow
Tantalizing,
Irresistible.

Am I
Glassy or flashy
Or crooked
Or curved;
I cannot tell.

Like a
Conundrum
One day,
An open book
The next.

To name all the colors,
Rubies and sapphires,
Menagerie of emotions,
Of loving,
Hating,

Tangled webs
Of knowledge
Punctuated by personality,
A perfect pride
Soaring through the sky.

Maybe a halo
High above my head,
Or devil's horns
Burrowed deep
In my brow.

Of liberty
Or justice,
Or rage,
Or wrath,
I cannot tell,

For who I am,
Who you are,
Remains undefined
And can change like a leaf
Blown in the wind.





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