Who am I?

I could say I am a million different things

But how would you know I’m not.

How do you come to the conclusion of what’s real and what’s not?

Do you dedicate a study to the theory that my life is a lie?

In fear that one day I may die.

With none of your questions answered?

That my name may be slandered

How do you know I am not a pit of destruction?

That my reconstruction was nothing but a mere lie?

Yet I cry.

Because I don’t know who I am

I could be the epitome of happiness

But I don’t feel like I am

I feel jammed

Into an uncontrollable void that I’d like to avoid

I’m annoyed, destroyed, and not overjoyed.

I’m stuck

In a cycle of doubt

Wanting to shout but I’m left with a pout

Like some trout in a drought

Without a map in this route