I Am

I am the madness in a shaky room with all right angles, with all straight lines.
I am the wrong-minded in the right place, straight-faced, doing the normal thing, acting the average part.
I am the lie in the honest delusion in a desperate need of truth,  of reality, of grounding, of directionality.
“I am me!” I scream in pain again to nobody at all, unconvinced it must be so, filthy debris clinging to my identity unsettles my certainty, discombobulates my sense of “me.”
I am the selfishness in the act of kindness I wish I never understood.
I am the loneliness in the hand extended in friendliness, in companionship, patting backs and shoulders, consummating relationships, consuming patience, presuming facelessness, meaningless expressions stretched aching in pain enduring fakeness afraid to make a statement.
I am the relief in the hated, exiled, ostracized, despised, exhilarated by the rush of familiar rage-fueled sensations, overcome by elation.
I am sick and wise and childish, intelligent and weak.
I am every little thing I think of, and opposite as well, and nothing that is simple, clear, or easy just to write it out, or easy just to spell.
I am a paradox, a nonexistent everything that makes no sense at all.
I am a lie, I am oversimplified, I am alive, I am infinite confusion, I am lost in my seclusion.
I am something, maybe? Maybe not…
I am thinking, feeling, living…
Yes… I am doing quite a lot…