We're at war with our imperfections.
Riddled with our expectations.
Trying so hard
To find meaning in life.
Probing, day by day;
Searching, yet unable to find the right way;
Searching, just to define who we are.
I keep looking.
And suddenly,
Doubt starts creeping,
Same as usual, back into my troubled mind.
The million-dollar question echoes,
'Who am I truly?'
My eyes lift
As the simpleton draws near.
Eager to show me his ways,
Eager to define my days,
A simple solution for an ignoramus.
But to him, I must say,
"I may be doubtful; more than nought unsure.
I cannot deny; I may not yet know myself.
Yes, I could be anything in this world.
But one thing reigns true;
You do not, and cannot define my being."
© inconspicuous_