I Asked a Question
I asked a question long ago
Quite in need, quite painfully
"Am I really truly me?"
The answer then was no.
But I was very young
And what people said I believed
And took as part of me
And soon what was me was gone.
I've spent the years regaining
The essence of who I am
Yet I cannot truthfully say
That I am really me.
I have indeed found most of me
In the ruin of what I had become
But some part still eludes me
And this part I've not found.
Is that so bad I wonder?
Would I like me if I knew?
Is something that I never knew
Worth the price of knowing?
But what if what I do not know
Is an all important key
That without it as I am now
I will never be just me.
So do I go on wondering
And trying to find what is lost
Or do I accept me as I am
And that is all of me I'll ever know.