I am not the wreckage
Your life was built upon
Or the side street
Were rushed lovers meet
To greet each other
In a panic with frantic fingers

I am not the hole
You fill to ****
That internal ache

I am not the hero
Or the villain
Of this small
Human production

I am not like
The similes
That litter
Your eulogies
Or the metaphors
You adore

I am simply me
Still searching
To find out
Who that is