Identity crisis

When the

Hookah Caterpillar

asks,

Who

are you?

I respond:

I am clay.

Time,

frequencies,

thoughts and stares

mold me.

On occasion,

I’m a work of art.

Other days,

just a lump.

During the summer

I’m Jack

so thirsty that

satisfaction saturates my sight

prompting my stumble

and busting my crown.

In the grand scheme

I’m a pebble

tossed in the Nile

letting currents

and nature

control my destiny.

On Tuesdays

I’m Marvin Gaye,

a troubled man

in Cleo’s apartment,

hearing What’s Going On

through the grapevine.

On the weekends

I’m a pillar of salt,

preserving past options,

choices,

and regrets—

while spoiling

blessings

and the fourth dimension.

Sitting in the corner

my ego whispers

I’m Sisyphus,

jaded and laughing

while advancing

the inertia of my reality.

Jesus said

I’m Judas,

crucifying my potential

for pleasure

and entertainment.

Every night I pray

forgiveness.

When I get high

I’m Leonardo DiCaprio

stuck on shutter’s island

wearing an iron mask-

trying to look up

daring my demons

to catch me if you can

on the 11th hour, I figured out:

wolves on wall street

are eating Gilbert

for my partner, I’d rather sink

or drink poison

than become a killer

of her flower moon.

As a coping mechanism

I’m Danny Phantom,

ghosting my friends

and family

to fight off

bad spirits—

to feel human.

In my sleep

I’m Pinocchio

on a quest for character

attached to strings of shame,

lust,

and envy

when it’s crickets

I stop being an…donkey

to appear normal

I lie

extending my nose

to spite my face.

In the shower

I’m a romantic,

perplexed

by the concept of love.

why are stipulations

placed on the unconditional?

How does something

so liberating

confine you

to expectations,

to miscommunication

and jealousy?

On a good day

I’m Robin Williams

fighting my shadow

dodging hooks

while guiding lost boys

worried

maturity will ruin

my innocence

and imagination

I flubber opportunities

by playing silly games

that trap me in Jumanji

to escape

I am hunting

for goodwill.

Honestly

I’m just

a disabled Black boy

from the northside

of Omaha, Nebraska—

writing poetry

and walking with solace.

Whose empathy

might end him,

but

can heal the world.