I Don't Know Who I Am

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .
Twenty years and I feel no different.
Perhaps I am much the same, and no time has passed at all.
. . .
 

I've taken into consideration why I do the things I do.
Duty and obligation.
What are my duties?
Again to this question of place in the world.
Twenty years and what is my place?
Twenty years and I feel no different.
I am trying to write the story that'll be the pinnacle of my career-
or perhaps I already have and
already am I sinking into
the obscurity I feared so much.
It feels so good to kill the sun.
Living is killing the sun.
Even though killing the sun scares me.
I worry-
about a lot of things.
Unveiled from the shadows
and shining a light onto something I want unseen.
My world, my thoughts, my abilities.
At some point,
everyone will come to the realization
that there is nothing special
about what I write.
I want so much to see what others tell me they see.
But I am no one's day,
no sun in the sky
or warm light.
 

I want to write what it's like
even if I feel incapable
inadequate
to tell the story I want to tell.
I am thinking so hard
maybe I should stop
cease the polish
let it be as...

 Twenty years and I still don't know who I am.

I think the sun still sets over moonlight.