Who am I in the eyes of others?
A poet who writes for his sisters and brothers?
A child who runs to his father and mothers?
Really, who am I?

I wake up and feel so down in the depths I can feel the heat burning my skin,
As if demons were breathing their merciless darkness on me while I lay asleep,
So down that if I wanted to do a somersault I’d be halfway there,
Really, what am I?

Then there are other days, where I feel so good that I feel invincible,
Whereas the day before, I felt invisible, but the angels saw me,
They granted me transparent wings, only temporary of course,
Really, when am I?

I can honestly say I’ve been through Heaven and Hell,
I’ve felt the burn, experienced the bliss,
But Earth has so much to offer, that I can say I don’t miss those trips,
Really, where am I?