The Nonconformist Culture

What have I done?
And who am I, really?
When I say I am what I am,
Am I a liar?

I question my own words,
Fasten them to a setting sun,
One minute here and true,
The next, void and invisible to the world.

Incompatible with myself,
Instigating brokenness,
No one at fault,
But me.

A thief, I steal from the broken,
Just as the broken steal from me,
Am I any better,
Than the better I desire?

As a poet, I cannot lie,
A written word of mine writes itself,
Free of their voices,
Telling me who they think I am.

But who am I really?
That is an answer I still don’t know,
One day, “I am.”,
The next, “Am I?”