What am I but a breathing creature?
A swirling mass of thoughts?
A being simply wanting to be?
Am I but a willfully manipulated person?
Falling prey to such things as emotions, desires and curiosities?
What am I to you?
I could be a humble man, dutifully whitling hours for family.
Possibly a woman, with an ocean of love for her just born baby.
Maybe a man, drinking his life away; a belly so large
Or a woman, inhaling toxic smoke; a breath so ghastly.
Am I a man competing against the rest?
A woman, listfully fighting for myself?
Maybe someone swimming with the flow?
Or someone happy? Someone sad?
Those multitudes of variants that take play
So many needs and wants forming who you are
We are all so different,
But aren't we all the same?
That inner-self, curious in its way
Baby like in its interest
We all have that ray.
A ray that could be an emotion.
Overbearing sadness, or overarching happiness.
A ray that could be a desire.
To be the best, or to simply be well.
A ray that could be curiosity.
A desire to learn, or a desire for meaning.
But what am I, to me?
I am someone.
Someone who's hurting,
But aren't we all?
I am someone.
Someone who wishes,
Don't we all?
I am someone wishing for meaning,
Desiring an answer for the unanswerable.
A curse it is, but a hope it could be.
That hopeful ray, I will use.
That ray. A will it is.
Pulling the chef's heart to cook his next dish.
Cranking the writer's head to formulate his next prose.
For that is what will forge the one that is You.